


Mr Van Dahl's Remarkable Double Life

by greenfairy13



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fake Enemies, Fluff and Crack, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Rating has changed to E, Rating will probably change to E
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2019-09-02 10:05:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16784785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenfairy13/pseuds/greenfairy13
Summary: Oswald Cobblepot is once again the mayor of Gotham. Of course he wants his secret husband James Gordon to be at his inauguration. Little does he know how fed up he is with his double life.





	1. Monday Morning - A Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So another plot bunny bit me (a happy one this time).

It’s a fairly usual Monday. Well, as usual as it gets in Gotham. James Gordon is seated at his desk at the GCPD, sipping too bitter coffee while going through some particularly graphic file on the most recent murder. His coffee is cold already when Harvey arrives, munching an especially greasy doughnut. His beard and jacket are coated with an icing of powdered sugar, granting him an involuntary festive appearance. 

Harvey leans over Jim’s shoulder, takes another bite and says while still savoring his treat, “Zsasz is on his way to kill ya.” He sits down then and takes a sip from Jim’s terrible brewing and pulls a face. The other detective simply nods and continues taking down notes. Zsasz being on the hunt for him isn’t unusual. The hitman tries at least twice a month snuffing Gordon’s lights out and it usually ends with one of them getting patched up in the ambulance, or on better days, running around with an ice pack for the rest of the day. “But well, if you’re drinking something like that, you have probably given up on life already.”

Jim simply snorts in response and hands Harvey some sugar. “You could always just get your own coffee,” he retorts and closes the file. 

“One day, he’s gonna get ya,” Harvey announces with determination and Jim huffs disbelievingly. “He can keep trying.”

“Also, you’ve offended our beloved mayor once again. Cobblepot may have had a soft spot for you in the past, but recently, you’re pushing your luck, Jimbo. One day he’ll lose his patience, send his army and decorate his wall with your head.” 

“The Penguin wouldn’t put my head up on his wall. His taste is much too refined for that,” Jim jokes. Harvey only shakes his head at his insufferable partner.

“Like it or not, he’s back to ruling the under- and the upper world and you can’t keep throwing the Penguin into the nearest wall whenever you set sight on him.” 

The detective suppresses a sly smile. He wonders how his friend would react if he only knew how much Oswald loves to get pushed up against walls, or bar counters, or get bent over a table for the matter. 

“I can damn well,” he grouses unenthusiastically. “He’s a criminal, a murderer, Harvey. He should be behind bars and not having the entire city at his beck and call.” Jim rattles on with his well practiced speech even though Harvey has long since tuned out. It’s a song he’s been singing for years and the words come easily. They’re lacking the heat though Ozzie would probably be expecting from him. 

“Crime rates are still down,” the other cop points out with a shrug and takes another bite from his doughnut. “He’s the best bad man we ever had. Can’t you just make your peace with him and pick on other gangsters?” 

James Gordon only rolls his eyes at that. If it would be up to him, he’d do just that and stop pretending to be at his husband’s throat whenever they’re out together in public.  
“So how do you explain that then,” Jim hollers instead, pulling out the victim’s photograph from the file and throwing it at Harvey. “Murder rates down, my ass. I’ll show the public for the hundredth time that the GCPD is protecting them and not at mobster and his army of freaks.”

“You know what Jim? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re obsessed with the guy.” For a flash second Gordon stares at his partner like a deer caught in the headlights. He sobers up quickly enough for his buddy not to notice.

“It’s alright,” Harvey says, patting Jim on the back. “Obviously, you are desperate for an arch enemy. Just remember, you ain’t a comic book hero and I’m frankly sick of saving your sorry ass.” The older man pauses to lick the remaining fat and sugar from his fingers. 

“Oh and Jim, if Zsasz hasn’t killed you by tonight, you’re expected to hold a speech in honor of mayor Cobblepot’s reelection. And don’t even start trying to talk yourself out of this,” he adds sternly. 

James drops his head into his hands. That’s just typical for Oz. Despite knowing how much he hates such events, he keeps dragging him along. And it always ends up with him acting like a complete moron or asshole or both, just so they don’t blow their cover. The detective could cry. It’s not like he doesn’t want to be there with Oswald or isn’t happy about his husband being mayor again, quite the contrary. He’s just sick of the act. Gritting his teeth, Jim vows to turn Ozzie’s inauguration into a living hell.


	2. Nobody kill the Hubby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zasz is after Jim and Oswald is anything but happy. Please mind the rating change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's some crack, some smut and a tad bit of angst. I hope you'll enjoy. Also, I haven't written smut in ages and I'm terrified.

After a twelve-hour shift, Jim is finally driving back to his ratty apartment. On duty, he had been punched in the gut by a pickpocket, got pushed down the stairs by a robber and, to put the cherry on top of his shitty day, a homeless guy spit his booze all over his suit.

Not for the first time the cop desperately wishes he could just drive up to the Van Dahl mansion, place his head in his husband's lap and get warmed up by the cozy fireplace. Instead, he has to go hiding inside his shit hole excuse of a flat and maybe, if nobody has been tailing him, he can send Oz a text so Gabe will come and pick him up. And even if that happens, there's absolutely no guarantee he'll catch a glimpse of his lover. 

Recently, Oz had been busy plotting the reelection and forging alliances. As if that hadn't been enough, he has also started expanding his businesses to legal - and much to Jim’s dismay - illegal gambling. The last course of events resulted in a rather ugly row between the pair of them that ended up with Oswald sleeping in the guest room and Jim having another devastating crisis of conscience.

Some spectacular make up sex and Ozzie vowing not to chop his debtors’ body parts off - a promise the detective doesn't actually believe - he dropped the topic, deciding he'd rather let some sleaze suffer before visiting the love of his life in prison. Still, he feels sick to the stomach.

A glance into his rear mirror propels his cranky mood up to new heights. He’s undeniably greeted with the sight of Victor Zsasz’ bald head. The hitman is grinning mischievously at him through his windshield. Raising his left hand from the steering wheel, he makes the _head_ _off_ gesture and clicks his teeth.

Suddenly, the weariness hits Jim with the force of a freight train. He's exhausted and ready to go to bed and not to some social event. And he's much less ready to deal with a crazy psychopath in his current state.

Secretly, he curses Oswald. His slightly paranoid hubby sometimes tends to send Victor after him to rough him up publicly so his gangster buddies remain convinced him and Oz are still enemies and, that of course no, the kingpin wouldn't let the detective’s insults slide without retaliation. Usually, he warns Jim beforehand, though.

Well, no time like the present to be seen with Victor Zsasz, Jim tells himself and wonders how being constantly threatened by Gotham’s most terrifying hitman had become his type of life insurance. Heaving a sigh, the detective stops his car and walks into his flat. The killer is of course following suit.

First things first, the detective decides as he pours himself a stiff drink to numb the oncoming pain and sets out his first aid kit.

“Whiskey or gin?” he asks Victor while adding a dash of vermouth to his gin. 

“Did you watch too many James Bond movies?” the killer asks instead curiously. Jim simply clenches his jaw in return. He’s not going to discuss his preferences with an assassin.

“I offered.” Jim shrugs and downs the hole thing in one go while waiting for Victor to deliver his message on how the Penguin is allegedly cross with him again. 

As Oswald only trusted Gabe enough to know about their marriage, he doesn’t even blame the pale man for putting on his usual show. How could he possibly know his threats are only meant to _appear_ real? Lost in his musings and slightly dulled by the alcohol, Jim doesn’t pay much attention to Gotham’s finest man for hire until Victor snaps his finger.

The detective snarls in annoyance. “What?” he grumbles impatiently. 

“I’m going to kill you, Jim,” Victor announces gravely while training his weapon at the detective. “Enjoy your drink, though,” he adds with a small smile. “It’s gonna be your last.”

“Yeah, about that,” Jim replies and puts his glass down with a loud thud. “I have to deliver a speech on our glorious mayor in about three hours. So just give Penguin my best and be back on your merry way.” 

Whatever Zsasz is playing at, Gordon has absolutely no time for it. He needs to take a shower, shave, put on his full dress and drive through half of the city. Hopefully, this ordeal is soon going somewhere.

“I’m afraid, this time I’ll have to deliver more than just your usual punch, Jim,” the gangster declares with mock sadness. 

“Do I really have to remind you of Penguin’s _no killing members of the forces_ policy?” Jim asks while mentally starting to cite his speech. If this is going to take much longer, he might as well put his time to some good use.

“I currently don’t work for the Penguin,” Victor answers. The suave hitman actually looks sheepish. “But I figured bringing him your head would get me back into his good graces.” The expression on his face is downright victorious and then the gun clicks. It’s the very same moment Gordon realizes Victor is actually being serious.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jim thinks while as subtly as possible reaching for his own gun. He's got no clue how and when Oswald's and Victor's fragile partnership went south again and frankly, he doesn't even care. If only the crime lord would stop insisting on playing this stupid game, the exhausted man wouldn't have to convince a murderer that Oswald Cobblepot most certainly prefers his secret husband alive and mostly well. 

“Well, Victor,” Jim says holding up his left hand placatingly, “the Penguin insisted on me personally holding this speech, therefore I'm very sure you putting a bullet into my head wouldn't result in regaining your position.” 

“I'm sure he'll appreciate the gesture,” Victor retorts with conviction and presses his gun against Jim’s head. “On your knees, James,” he orders languidly. “Chop, chop, I’d love to give Oswald his present preferably before Gotham's elite is gathered around him.”

Obediently, the detective goes down only to rise again in one fluid movement. He gets hold of Victor’s gun in the process, disarms him and then everything happens quite fast. Jim lands a well aimed punch to the assassin’s stomach, who in return connects his fist forcefully with his left eye. There goes all hope at looking remotely decent for mayor Cobblepot’s inauguration, Jim notes while throwing a bottle of cheap wine at the assassin.

The fight goes on for a while with alternately Victor or Jim gaining the upper hand. Either the hitman is really determined on winning this round or the detective is indeed too exhausted but after a particularly hard combination to his chest, he tumbles over and fails in getting back up in time. Thankfully, Zsasz must have at some point changed his mind about killing him for he starts binding the policeman’s wrists and drags him to his car. 

Jim is then being unceremoniously crammed into the trunk and left in soothing darkness. Well, still being alive can only mean Victor has decided on taking him to Oswald. Before passing out, Jim briefly wonders if he’s got a spare uniform at the mansion.

When waking up again, he’s still bound but somewhat comfortably placed on the settee in his real home’s living room. Jim counts at least five goons gathered around the room, hostile expressions in varying degrees plastered on their faces. Gabe stands right behind Oswald, looking especially confused. The kingpin himself is seated right in front of him, looking every bit like the polished King of Gotham he insists on being. Jim suppresses the urge to grin like a loon at his husband’s sight. In his defense, the other man is dressed in an especially dashing midnight-blue frock with silver lining tonight. 

The mayor quickly shots James a worried glance before turning his attention back to Victor. The detective can tell his husband is about two seconds from losing his temper and strangling the killer with his bare hands if the death grip on his silver cane is anything to go by. 

“What do you think are you doing, Victor?” he sneers while pointing an accusing finger at the assassin.

“Happy inauguration day, boss,” Victor answers cheerfully. Obviously, Jim has landed some pretty hard punches to the bald man's head too, else he wouldn't be so oblivious. “I originally only wanted to bring you his head, but I thought you might want to take it off yourself?”

Oswald's eyes snap up at this. He seeks James expression for confirmation on the statement. When Gordon mutely shrugs, the kingpin's intentions on staying somewhat calm are being happily tossed outta the window.

“I don't even know where to start on how wrong it is to kidnap a policeman and take him into my home today of all days,” he screeches furiously, sounding every bit like a banshee with his high-pitched, painfully shrill voice. “What on earth makes you think I need a body in my living room, the day I become mayor again? Did you lose your mind, Victor? I do not have any use for a hitman with less brains than an amoeba. Get out of my sight before I can't help myself and ruin my carpet with your blood.”

“I only wanted to help you get back at him,” the assassin huffs slightly baffled. “Gordon has been a great obstacle for years now. I figured it's about time we solve the problem before he ruins your second run as mayor.”

"As far as I remember, Ed ruined my first run,” Oswald bites back. Poor Ed, Jim thinks. He had tried to warn Ozzie, though. Nygma is as ingenious as he’s mentally unstable. After strangling his new girlfriend Isabel during a psychotic fit, the guy had completely lost his mind and conjured a tale about Oswald being madly being in love with him and orchestrating some car accident to get rid of his rival. Jim had never been more horrified but when pulling his lover’s nearly lifeless body out of the Gotham river. Fortunately, Ivy was skilled enough to save Oswald. But that also means Jim is now doomed to overlook another criminal’s escapades. Well, it had been worth it.

Oswald takes a deep breath and leans back against the cushions. His gaze lingers on the bindings cutting into his husband's wrists, and he finally makes up his mind. “Gabe, please,” he starts with a strained voice. “Would you be so kind as to accompany James to my private rooms? I'll be with you in a minute.”

Jim raises his eyebrows half curiously, half warningly. The message is clear: don’t kill the hitman. The detective’s conscience is already carrying too many burdens without another corpse on the plate. Thinking of plates, Jim is still not over Oswald cooking his step siblings. When the detective learned his husband had not only killed his father’s murderer but literally fried them, Jim had turned vegetarian.

Oswald gives him an imperceptible nod as Gabe drags him away. “Ouch,” the detective winces when the goon shoves him not too gently into a seat. Usually, the kingpin’s right hand is more politely with him. “Could you please cut me free?” Jim complains. “We’re already late and I still need to get dressed.”

Gabe cocks his head in confusion. “Boss didn’t say to cut you free,” he retorts after a moment of consideration and not for the first time, Jim wishes Strange had not only made him more loyal but also a tad bit smarter.

“I’m pretty certain my _husband_ won’t mind,” the policeman points out, putting extra emphasis on the fact that him and Oz are in fact a team.

“Yeah, but Victor thought killing you would make him happy. And Victor’s pretty smart. Also, the boss didn’t disagree. He just said killing you today and at home would be bad,” Gabe carries on, somewhat proud of his train of thought.

“Gabe!” Jim hollers. “Untie me now, or I won’t talk Oz into bringing you back to life the next time he snaps!” At this, the kingpin’s underling looks not only confused but also slightly guilty. 

“Sorry, Jim. Can’t do that until the boss says so,” he apologizes halfheartedly.

Finally, the kingpin himself enters and finally ends Jim’s torment. The gangster is visibly shaken: his freckles stand out more prominently than ever on his pale face and his lips are bereft of all color. Trembling violently, Oswald throws himself against his man’s chest. 

“You scared the hell out of me,” he complains, eyes swimming with tears. Jim can’t help it - he has to lean down and kiss the little droplets from his husband's long, beautiful lashes. As the smaller man practically curls up on his lap and showers him with kisses, Jim’s anger slowly dissipates.

“I didn’t think it was possible to scare the hell out of Satan,” Jim retorts playfully before giving his husband a passionate kiss. Burying his nose in the crook of Oswald’s neck, Jim breathes in his decadent scent and his remaining irritation vanishes into thin air.

That’s the power Oswald holds over him. Whenever his psychotic murder birdie shows a glimpse of just how fragile and vulnerable he deep down truly is, Jim wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and shield him from the world - or he sets out and does something downright stupid, like murdering a man. Oz considers killing Galavan their most romantic date. Jim secretly marks that day as the one his morals got irrevocably screwed. Afterwards everything else had just been natural progress, like finding an actor and bribing him into going to Arkham instead of the infamous mob boss. 

As nice at it is to have Oswald practically straddling his lap, Jim is quite aware of the fact that Gabe is still in the room and the ropes didn’t quit cutting off his blood circulation either. 

“Would you mind untying me now?” he asks his man between kisses. Oswald doesn't notice the question first. Instead, he presses his body closer and clings to Jim as if he'd disappear any moment.

“Oswald,” he tries more sternly this time while reluctantly pulling away. “Untie me, please?”

The gangster looks up. His gaze is unfocused, face flushed and his breath comes out in ragged little puffs. Jim thinks he's adorable when he’s equal parts terrified and aroused.

“What?” he asks hazily.

“The bindings,” Jim elaborates with an encouraging smile.

“Oh.” Oswald looks over to Gabe who has in the meantime turned his back on them and intently studies the curtains.

“They are really getting uncomfortable, Oz. If you're so fond of them, I'd suggest we get some from a softer fabric. And maybe ones that are not quite so tight?” He wriggles underneath his husband in hopes of getting him to move. The kingpin either is unable or unwilling to act and just stares at the bindings, thoroughly mesmerized.

“You could have died today,” he whispers, barely audible. “You could have died and I wouldn't have been able to change anything about it.” Jim’s heart clenches at the statement. Not many people know how deeply the reckless gangster cares for the ones he loves, how far he’s willing to go to protect them. The detective knows. He’d go just as far, too.

Pulling a blade from his vest pocket he finally cuts the ropes and gently slips from Jim’s lap.

“And you, Gabe!” He spins on his good heel, the ever brooding anger surfacing again. “Why didn't you untie Jim?” he growls.

“Wasn't sure if we were gonna kill him,” Gabe answers honestly.

The Penguin grits his teeth, grabs his cane and waddles towards his underling. Jim readies himself in case Oz might be out for blood. His husband is like a loaded gun, ready to go off at any given moment. Just a handful of his goons are able to cope with his temper and besides Jim and Ivy, none of them can effectively calm him down.

“What in the name of everything that is evil and unholy,” Oswald starts holding up a finger menacingly, “makes you think I want anyone to kill my husband!” He leans towards Gabe, eyes almost turned black and Jim knows if he doesn't step in, the blade will end up in the elderly man's chest.

“Ozzie, love,” the detective coaxes. “We'll be late for your inauguration.”

The gangster slightly backs down but isn't finished yet. “How many times do I have to tell you!” he yells. “Nobody's killing James Gordon. No, no touching the hubby, capiche? Am I being clear now?” Oswald jabs Gabe in the chest with one long digit for emphasis. 

“But he never respects you,” the criminal protests. 

“I told you it's just an act!”

“Uh, Gabe? Maybe a moment of privacy?” Jim suggests and the thug leaves the room faster than Jim would have thought possible, considering his size and solidity.

“He's got a point though,” Jim sighs and flops down on the sofa, completely exhausted. “It's not really beneficial to my health, if your entourage assumes bringing you my head on a pike makes for a perfect present.”

Oswald huffs as he drops down next to him. Gently taking his husband's hand he starts drawing lazy circles on his palm. “If people would know we're married, they'd start using you as leverage,” he simply explains. Jim has heard it often enough already and still isn’t convinced. Gotham will kill them either way and today just showed how Ozzie’s plan did nothing to protect him.

“Oz, I'm not suggesting I'll start examining your tonsils in public. I’m not fond of grand displays of affection.” The detective snorts humorlessly. “I'm talking about slightly more civilized behavior.”

"Definitely not,” Oswald declares decidedly. “You and me getting along in public would only raise suspicions.” He glares ineffectively at his spouse. Straightening out his clothes, he gets up and raises his finger at Jim. “Now, get a shower and put that uniform on. Your shenanigans are ruining my schedule.”

“ _My_ shenanigans? I almost got killed cause you insist on me acting like a stubborn, hypocritical jerk around you!” Jim’s temper flares as he clenches his fists and his jaw tightens uncomfortably.

Grabbing Oswald by the wrist, he spins the other man around, so they’re both facing the high mirror behind a narrow dresser.

“That’s us, Oswald,” Jim explains quietly. He tilts the thin man’s head up gently so he’s forced to look at their reflections on the cold, clean surface.

The kingpin’s appearance is meticulous, impeccable. Each and every single jet black hair is precisely styled, his pale skin is flawless. Oswald looks ethereal, like a being crafted in another world, a cruel and cunning world. The seemingly fragile man’s expression is closed off though, not revealing any emotion.

Jim on the other hand looks like crap. His suit is rumpled, he’s got bruises on his face and hands, and he’s practically vibrating from suppressed anger. The detective isn’t good with words. He doesn’t know how to vocalize how much it pains him how they’re constantly pretending to be at war. How much he missed Harvey at their wedding or how he suffers whenever he has to insult the man he vowed to love until the day he dies.

The policeman can’t articulate what he really wants. He doesn’t really know himself what he wants. Telling the whole world they’re a couple would end Jim’s career and put Oswald’s life at stake, but he can’t keep going on. It’s madness. Whatever it is that him and Oz are doing, it’s ruining Jim. For fuck’s sake, it’s nothing other than domestic violence.

If he’d vocalize his thoughts, they’d for sure come out all jumbled and wouldn’t make any sense. So Jim does what they always do when words fail both of them. He leans forward and starts pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against Oswald’s throat. His grip around the other man’s hips tightens, becomes possessive. His nails dig into the expensive fabric, leave marks on the extraordinary material.

Wandering hands slide under layers of silk, velvet and cotton until they find bare skin. He wants to leave marks there as well. Pulling the crime lord flush against his solid body, he starts unbuckling his belt.

“We don’t have time for this.” The King of Gotham’s weak protest dies off when Jim tilts his head and presses his lips against his mouth. Jim kisses him deeply, pushes his tongues almost aggressively into his mouth, mimicking what he’s about to do with the deadly creature in his arms.

His right hand scoots down, cups him through his trousers where he finds him already hard and swollen. “You’re always ready for me,” Jim states with a devilish grin.

He watches Oswald’s face in the mirror, notes how his mouth drops open and his freckles become visible as streaks of crimson arise. Whatever the criminal wants to say in response ends up in a low moan when the policeman bites down on his earlobe.

“It won’t take me long to get you off, mayor,” Jim promises as he loosens Oswald’s tie to gain better access to his neck. Calloused fingers enclose a fragile throat and the kingpins gasps helplessly.

It’s only when they’re alone that Jim wields all the power over the schemer. In the bedroom, the King of Gotham is being reduced to a whimpering mess. Outside, he dictates the entire city.

“You’ll ruin my suit,” Oswald whines as he lets his head fall back against Jim’s shoulder, baring his throat deliberately.

“It would indeed be a shame,” the other man replies lightly, “if our honorable mayor would arrive in a sweaty suit, face flushed, reeking of sex.”

“Jim,” he whispers, eyes blown wide and almost turned black from lust. Usually, his eyes are blue like sapphires. They only turn black in the haze of their fucking or when his hands are about to get coated in blood. The detective shivers as his hold around the mobster’s neck slightly tightens.

Once, Oswald had represented everything that is rotten and evil in Gotham. Instead of slaughtering the dragon, James had decided to shot and bury his principles instead.

“You’re my ruin,” he moans breathily into the other man’s ear as he unbuttons his trousers. Oswald’s pants finally drop to the floor. “Suck,” he orders, pressing two fingers against that pretty little, lying mouth. 

Jim works him open with quick, well practiced movements: one hand clasped around Oswald’s already leaking cock, slick fingers pressed against a tight ring of muscle. He elicits a tiny pained hiss as he shoves one digit in deep, as well as a salacious moan. 

The detective stares into the mirror. Oswald’s face is a picture of pure bliss: lips slightly parted, tongue poking out, wetting that rosy lips, eyes closed. Jim wants to rip off his suit, muss up that perfectly styled hair and mar that marble skin. He restrains himself, though. 

“God, Jim,” the gangster whines. “Please fuck me already.” Wiggling his hips impatiently, he trusts into the stronger man’s hands. 

James leans over, traces the outline of his lover’s spine through the delicate fabric and his sour expression softens. “Did you hide some lube in here?” he asks quietly.

“Top drawer of each dresser or table in every room,” Oswald retorts. At his husband’s baffled expression, the spread out man chuckles. “I like to come prepared. Besides, you’re insatiable detective Gordon.” Jim only nods tersely as he picks up the small tube and starts slicking himself up.

“That’s Mr Van Dahl for you, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot-Van Dahl,” James growls into his man’s ear as he pushes into him with one swift stroke.

Jim fucks him hard. His pace is quick, each trust a well aimed hit against the other man’s prostate. Mindful of the bad leg, he steadies Oswald’s weight with one arm draped around his slim chest, using his other hand to entwine their fingers.

“Fuck, Jim. I’m so close,” Oswald gasps. “I just need…”

Jim wraps his hand around his beloved man’s cock, slides his thumb over the sensitive tip. It doesn’t take long then, and he’s coming hard over the shiny surface of the narrow drawer. Jim pulls him tightly against his chest as his orgasm hits him, else he’d ruin his shirt. The movement draws him in even deeper, triggers his own high and for a second he thinks he’ll pass out from the intensity of the sensation. Only knowing that Oswald would get hurt if he toppled over, keeps him upright.

“I love you,” Jim whispers when his heart rate has somewhat slowed down. Oswald doesn’t reply but the expression on his face and the way he holds his battered face between his palms is worth more than any vocal confirmation.

It’s only when they are seated in the limo, five blocks away from the city hall and Gabe stops the car for Jim to get out and hunt down a cab, that everything comes crashing back down.

Oswald asks him if he’s got his speech and kisses him gently on the lips. “Yes,” he replies automatically, mentally already citing the first few lines. The kingpin has won again, Jim thinks bitterly when hauling over one of the yellow cars.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really dying to know how that was...


	3. Want a Divorce?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crack, revelations, more crack, romance, and some violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments and for reading! I hope you'll enjoy the next bit. Please let me know, if you did :-)

Jim makes it to Oswald’s inauguration almost an hour late. Rushing up the stairs the worn down detective presses his fingers against his aching chest. Zsasz really hasn’t been gentle on him and his mood darkens further. Jim’s entire body is sore. Every muscle is tense, his wrists hurt and his eye throbs unpleasantly.

Once he’s inside, practically encircled by Gotham’s creme de la creme, he stands out like a sore thumb. He’s getting awkward glances wherever he turns, the sound of curious or downright appalled whispers are to be heard. Head held high and jaw set tight, he pushes determinedly on, ignoring all these dolled up people looking down at him. Once again, the detective of the Gotham GCPD has managed to draw the attention of an entire room to himself, and he doesn’t like it.

His eyes roam around, searching for his seat, a crumpled invitation in his hand. Finally, a waiter notes his distress and put him out of his misery by guiding him to his table. How else could it be, he’s about to be in the center of the room. Instead of sitting down though, he just keeps standing there uselessly, all strength sucked out of him.

He finds Oswald, sitting at the head of the board of course. For a flash second, the gangster’s eyes are full of love and adoration before he’s schooling his features into something entirely else. The mob boss gives Jim a condescending smile that turns haughty once Oswald has his expression entirely under control. Jim simply glares back at him and Oswald mouths something that might or not be _sorry_.

Yet, he isn’t in the mood to play. He needs his husband, needs to act as a unity for once. The detective is sick of this game, of those insulting little glances and most of all, of the physical abuse. Jim realizes he doesn’t want to get thrown around for no reason. And he doesn’t want to slam his husband into any walls whatsoever. One moment, they’re just them and the other, they are enemies, seemingly hating each other.

“Whoa!” Someone says behind him, ripping Jim from his musings in the process. “Jimbo, relax. There.” It’s Harvey, complete in a tux for tonight. He shoves a glass of whiskey into Jim’s hands, eyes drawn together in concern.

Though not being handsome in the traditional meaning of the word, there’s some undeniable charisma and authority to the man. Obediently, the younger detective takes the liquor with his left hand. Instead of drinking it though, Gordon only holds onto it, swirling the liquid around absentmindedly.

“Loosen up, buddy,” Harvey says. “Or at least put some charcoal into your fist. We’ll be having diamonds by the end of tonight.” The other policeman stifles a tense laugh and Jim looks down. Heaving a deep breath, he relaxes his tightly clenched fist.

“Sorry, Harv. Had a rough day.” Jim offers with a slight shrug. Usually, that would be enough for his partner to drop the subject. Instead, he gives him a skeptical once over and purses his lips, obviously displeased.

“Jim, I’d say you look like crap but I can’t have crap coming after me for insulting it. What the fuck did happen to you?”

“Zsasz.” Jim huffs solely, deciding to drown the drink. “He escaped, again.” He adds for no particular reason.

“Wonderful,” Harvey retorts wryly, “And if your moon eyes for Cobblepot are anything to go by, he sent him?”

“I’m not making moon eyes,” the detective sputters. “And no, he didn’t,” he continues with a little sideways glimpse towards his unusual husband.

“Right,” Harvey growls while snatching two more drinks from a tray. “Do I really have to remind you that you can’t crack the little scumbag’s head here? Place and time, Jim. Place and time. One day he’ll end up with a bullet between his eyes, this one.” Patting his back reassuringly, he raises his glass and nods towards Oswald.

Jim feels nauseous. Of course, his partner is right. Even more so with the kingpin being mayor again. His husband could as well walk around with a bullseye painted to his forehead. And suddenly the detective realizes what it is that sets him on the edge to such an extent. With him pretending to be an enemy, Jim is unable to have his husband’s back openly. Oswald has practically made himself a target for each power-hungry politician and reckless gangster. Not as if these were separate categories in Gotham.

“Oswald might bounce back and back again, but unlike Falcone, he’s not been able to retain his power. Just watch it Jimbo, soon he’s going down for good.” Harvey tries to console. “And one fine day, I’ll even help you myself taking the little weasel down.” 

“You know, Harv,” Jim says holding his glass carefully towards the light, “that’s actually the last thing I want.” The detective studies his partner's face intently before continuing, “I’m not at war with Oswald, Harvey. In fact, we have been a team for a quite a while now.” The policeman’s face is entirely blank at the revelation. 

“What do you mean by _team_?” He finally asks, making little air quotes as he speaks the word team incredulously.

“It means, Harv, that Oz and I are a couple. I’m worse than all the corrupt cops at the GCPD combined, partner.” A shy smile flickers over Gordon’s face before falling silent again.

“Couple in what sense?” Harvey presses in a strained voice.

“In the _we are married_ sense of the word,” Jim replies because there’s no going back now, and he wants his best friend to know. Wanted him to know for a very long time, actually.

Harvey’s reaction is spectacular. His mouth drops open synchronously to his skin flashing beet-red. Making a strangled sound, the color then drains again from his face and, thank god for all those drinks, Harvey chokes. It’s a blessing, else he probably would have started screaming.

“Not here,” Jim warns, already dragging him towards a more private location. Once he’s found an unoccupied room, he shoves his partner inside, slamming the door shut.

“What! How! Why?” The other man cries almost instantly as he starts pacing the room, eyes wild.

“Jesus, Gordon! You have been drugged”, he finally declares with conviction. “Don’t worry buddy. I’ll call the ambulance,” he adds, already rummaging through his pockets in search for his phone. 

“No, Harvey. I don’t need an ambulance,” Jim retorts quietly. 

“Partner, you’re obviously not in your right mind. Just lemme sort that out, for ya.”

“Harvey, if you don’t believe me, look up the register on your phone. Oz and I have a certificate of marriage….”

“Oz?!!?” He cuts him off, now openly screaming. “You drove me insane with your determination to get this cockroach behind bars and now you’re calling him Oz? OZ??”

“Harv, calm down,” Jim tries desperately as he’s approaching his friend cautiously, voice low and soothing, like talking to a startled animal.

The problem is, this particular one is a full-grown grizzly when enraged. And right now, the Harvey-grizzly is fuming. It dawns on Jim that unveiling that secret tonight wasn’t particularly the brightest idea. Alas, the detective has always acted on impulse. He’s a hands on man, dealing with the consequences later type of person.

Incredulously, his best friend starts logging into Gotham’s marriage register, looking for Gordon’s name. He stares at the screen in silence for a long time. “James Gordon Van-Dahl,” he mutters then, as if not trusting his own eyes. “It says you’re married to Oswald Van-Dahl.” 

“That’s the name of Oswald’s father,” Jim explains unnecessarily. Harvey knows that already.

Thankfully, only a few people are acquainted with that fact and out of them, Harvey is the only one with legal access to the marriage register. The ones with illegal access haven’t been bothered to look it up so far. Yet, the marriage in itself had been a risk, one that could blow their cover up in their faces soon enough.

Harvey stands perfectly still as he lets the information wash over him. His mouth is moving without making a sound, unable to decide which question wants to escape first. 

“Does that mean you are having sex?” the detective finally blurts out. 

“We are married,” Jim ripostes, rolling his eyes. “Really, Harv? That’s the first thing that comes to your mind?”

“I’m a simple man, Jimbo. One who’s just wrapping his head around the fact that you’re banging Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot Van-Dahl,” he admits with obvious discomfort, fidgeting with his collar. Shaking his head in shock, he carries on, “but how?” 

“You mean how two people have sex?” Jim quips. 

“No, you idiot!” he barks. “I don’t want to picture that. I might throw up, else. I mean how you two ended up becoming a couple.” 

“After Lee losing the baby,” the younger man admits softly, refusing to say anything more.

He and Oswald hadn’t been friends at this point. But they had been something. Ever since that day on the docks, they ended up entangled in each other’s businesses. They would fight and argue, despise each other and threaten to kill the other person. But at the end of the day, they would strap on their holsters and save the day together. 

No matter how far Jim had tried to run away from his gangster, he always ended up on Cobblepot’s doorstep again. And then Galavan happened.

When looking into Oswald’s desperate eyes, being so heart-broken and shattered, almost insane after the loss of his mother, Jim had been unable to deny him his revenge. It had been against every rule the detective had established for himself, had vowed to follow. This day, his friend Oswald had become more important than his badge, his heroism, or the person he had worked so hard to be ever since joining the army. He had pushed the man he always wanted to be happily in front of the bulldozer that his seemingly fragile little Penguin is. 

When his relationship with Lee had ultimately failed, there wasn’t anything left holding him back. Returning from Blackgate, with all the lifelines that used to tie him to some sort of sanity disrupted, he had just given in. It felt like falling, back then, when leaning forward and finally plunging head first into the all-engulfing darkness that his crime lord is. From that second on, James Gordon had never recovered.

“But you sent him to Arkham. I went to Falcone to get you out of Blackgate. How come your _lover_ hasn’t broken you out then?” Harvey protests, still completely bewildered.

“We sent an impostor to Arkham.” Bullock gasps as his eyebrows practically disappear in his hairline. “Don’t dwell on it, Harv. The guy is currently in the Caribbean, for sure working on getting skin cancer with his pale skin and all the money Oz gave him. And as for Blackgate…. I’m forever in your debt, Harv. And Oswald is grateful, too. At the time he didn’t have the means to help me.” 

It’s liberating. It truly is, to finally share this secret with anyone else besides Oswald’s thickheaded goon Gabe. Harvey is taking it better than Jim would have expected. Of course, some shouting was to be expected but everything considered, he hasn’t shot Jim yet. That counts as a victory, right? 

“I need a drink,” Harvey finally declares in exhaustion. “Boy scout, you’re the death of me. You and Cobblepot,” he mutters angrily.

“Um, Harv. Can I count on you to keep that a secret?” Jim asks, uneasily rubbing his neck and that’s when the other man explodes. As it seems, the detective isn’t taking it so well after all.

“You can’t be serious, Jim! I’m not going to lie for the sake of your career — again. I won’t advertise this utmost stupid, irresponsible, lunatic life choice of yours on a banner but…. You didn’t invite me to the wedding!” he hollers at last.

“I’ve been holding your hand after Barbara and Lee and when you finally make it to the aisle, you don’t even invite your best friend. James Gordon, you’re an asshole!” Throwing his glass to the ground, he takes a step towards Jim and the other man closes his eyes, well aware that he earned the oncoming blow — unlike the other hits of the day. The punch never comes. Harvey has lowered his fist. Staring somewhat defeated at his friend, he just holds his hands up in midair. 

“I’m sorry, Harv. Oswald thought it was better nobody knows. Else we’d be used as leverage against each other.” Jim offers in a small voice. “And you will never have to lie for my career again. I want this marriage more than my badge,” he adds, scooting an uneasy hand through his hair.

“Heck, I’m tempted to blackmail your bird with that info myself,” the older detective grouses and Jim knows he has won. That’s just Harvey’s way of saying he’s rather gonna take that secret to the grave than revealing it.

Shaking his head, the man opens his mouth. Yet, before having the chance to ask more questions, the door unlocks and the subject of their conversation enters — for all to see perfectly polished on the outside and raging like a recently awakened dragon on the inside. 

“Do I have to keep constantly reminding you, detective Gordon, that you are supposed to hold a speech today? Your presence is expected in about ten minutes. Please spare us all an embarrassing spectacle by not showing up.”

There’s that saccharine sweet smile plastered on Oswald’s face again, yet he’s tense. James knows exactly how nervous his husband must be. A pang of guilt hits him. Despite not being able to show up together in public, they tend to stay close whenever possible, soothing each other’s nerves.

“Detective Gordon, my ass,” Bullock snorts derisively. “Mr _Van_ - _Dahl_ here has practically just declared his undying love for you. I’m certain he’ll be holding whatever speech is expected in your honor.”

With that, Bullock leaves them alone and James readies himself for the explosion. Mentally counting to three, he takes a step back. He considers telling his bird to wait with his tantrum until after the festivities but one glance at the twitching dimple renders the idea somewhat useless. 

“How could you tell this detective blockhead of all people we are married,” Oswald yelps, words tumbling over each other in his haste to get them out. “You just ruined the only chance we had of being together! By tomorrow everyone will know, they’ll be out for your head, James. Out for my empire. Everyone will know my weak spot and that it's you. Each and every little bloodthirsty lowlife will know how to kill me, us. How could you?” He hisses furiously. 

Heaving a sigh, Jim walks back up to him, grabs his raging little devil around the waist and presses him close, holds him firmly as the anger crashes over him like waves at a shore. Oswald is on the verge of tears, barely holding himself together.

“It's okay, Oswald,” Jim whispers against that pitch black hair. “Harvey is my best friend. He would never tell. I wouldn't have told him, else. But Oz….”

Jim's voice trails off, he's still uncertain how to tell him. “I always wanted you more than anything, more than the badge, but we'll get killed by Gotham. You are a mob boss and I'm a cop, and we're in this city. Just let me be honest about you. I want you more than anything else. I can't keep pretending to hate you, but I will. Harvey is my best friend. He won't tell, he'll never betray me, Oz. Just let me be honest with him, please, Ozzie.” 

Jim is rambling, but he has to say it out loud, has to be honest for once. This marriage means more than anything, more than protecting the innocent, more than being a cop but Jim needs to tell at least one person that matters to him besides his husband. Ne needs to be selfish to bear it, to get beaten and hurt again.

Oswald slowly calms down, stops raging and manages to tame his blood thirst. It's not like there's anyone around he really wants to hurt anyways. Swallowing heavily, he puts himself together. Jim captures his lips then, swallows the bile and the spite hungrily from his man’s lips. Each and every day they spend together could be their last. Gotham is constantly out for them, trying to erase them from the surface of the earth and Jim isn’t having any of it. Not anymore.

The gangster holds him tightly, presses his lean body against his more solid one. The detective is high on the feeling, doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of reducing this murderous, delicate creature to moans, whimpers and desperate babbling. Their love is too surreal for this cruel city. Deep down, James Gordon knows the Penguin is right. Nobody must know about their love for they would rather burn the entire city, no the entire world, down before losing each other for good. Yet, all the lies are just as poisonous and even if they can’t stop entirely, they need to become less.

Nothing is a precious, as valuable as finally having found someone to grow, if not old, at least older with, Jim thinks as he gently trails his fingers down his slim arms. He’s unable to keep hurting his husband, even if it’s just an act.

Oswald pulls at the strands of Jim’s hair, tugs him down for an even more intimate kiss. He bites down on his lower lip, drawing blood in the process, still angry at his husband for sharing their well-kept secret and the lust surfaces again. This lust, burning like fire, has always been both their greatest weakness, straight from the beginning. It was the reason they could never stand more than a few centimeters apart, made them unable to think clearly around each other.

The detective growls. Cupping his husband's ass, he drags him towards a nearby table. Panting hotly against his neck he confesses, “I’ll still fuck you into and onto any appropriate or inappropriate surface. I just don’t wanna slam you into them.”

Oswald keens in response. Pupils dilated, cheeks flushed and that meticulously styled hair somewhat rumpled, he says, “You need to hold a speech.” He’s just as breathless as Jim feels, yet manages to pull away before it all escalates again.

Jim nods in response. Despite being hard as granite, he releases his mobster and straightens out both their clothes. “You look delectable, mayor,” he whispers into his ear, leering openly. “And now,” he adds grinning viciously, “I’m going to make peace between the underworld and the GCPD.” The Penguins desperate protests fall on deaf ears.

The detective finally holds his speech. It starts innocently enough, with Gordon congratulating the Penguin on his victory during the election. After telling Harvey, Jim is well aware he probably shouldn’t test his luck, but then he simply decides it’s now or never. He isn’t as mad as to reveal to all of Gotham that the two of them are married, but he’s intent on ending this stupid charade of being enemies. Looking back, it might have been the worst way possible.

“As we all know, Oswald Cobblepot isn’t only the best mayor this beautiful city could have gained. No, Oswald is also the best mob boss Gotham has ever seen,” Jim starts proudly and Oswald all but shrinks into his seat. “This man,” he says, gesturing at his slowly paling husband, “has never been shy when it came to his methods. But,” he holds up a finger for emphasis, “his methods work. Gotham has never been safer to walk at night. And in the name of the GCPD, I’m proud to announce that we’ll no longer stand in the way of our new mayor. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Mr Oswald Cobblepot.”

Oswald slowly makes his way up on the podium. Accepting his election with a forced smile and some polite nods, he leans over to his husband. “That was the worst speech in the history of humankind,” he whispers mockingly. 

“You still love me, though,” Jim quips smugly and Oswald shakes his head. “I do. I do,” he admits, sighing weakly. “But Jim, you just called me a kingpin at my inauguration.”

“Well, you are,” the detective mouths back.

“You know, I’ll somehow have to retaliate, though” Oswald mumbles, still shaking hands and smile already so frozen it must be hurting. “I guess I’ll blow your car up. No physical abuse, that,” he quickly adds. “And I wanted to buy you a new one long enough. How about a Mercedes?”

With these words, Oswald vanishes in the crowd of his admirers and Jim turns to leave as well. He smiles one last time warmly at his husband, proud the former umbrella boy has achieved so much. Jim isn’t really convinced though calling him a mob boss in public was a problem. All of Gotham knows he rules the underworld, so what? He’s established working together with him in the future, and he’s gotten the message around.

Later, in his shabby little flat, James Gordon learns that his husband has a very different opinion on the matter. Lying in bed, almost drifting off to sleep, the detective nearly overhears the first gunshot. At the second, he sits bolt upright in bed.

James drops to the floor. Shielding his head, he searches for his gun and ammo. He makes it barely to the bathroom when he starts getting bombarded with heavy artillery. The entire furnishing is being gunned to pieces left and right to him and only by jumping into the bathtub head first, Jim can save himself from being shot down.

The fire ceases, his unknown enemies obviously unsure whether they’ve succeeded already or not. Jim dares quickly looking out of the window and instantly regrets his decision. His flat is surrounded by an entire army of scum-bags, minor mob bosses, hitmen, and nutters. The slightly worrying convention is armed to the teeth and obviously intent on ripping him to pieces. James Gordon is clearly outnumbered.

Dropping to the floor, he cautiously crawls back towards his bedroom. Snatching his phone from the bedside table, Jim starts calling his husband’s number. If Oz wanted to scare him, congratulations, he has definitely succeeded.

The ceasefire is over and just as Oswald picks up the phone, Jim saves himself again by jumping behind his kitchen counter.

“Hullu hubby,” Oz slurs cheerfully at the fourth ring, clearly a bit inebriated.

“Oswald,” Jim screams, ducking behind a cupboard as he fires his last shot. “If you wanted a divorce, all you had to do was ask.”

The gangster sputters something, taken aback. “Why would I want a divorce?” 

“Cause an entire army of your gangster buddies has gathered around my flat, putting more holes into the walls than any museum has pictures to cover up,” the detective yells. “Call them back. I got the message. No telling Harvey, not telling anyone - just make them go away.”

Something explodes not far away from Jim and the plaster starts raining down from the ceiling. “Oz, I’m running out of ammo here,” he growls.

James Gordon can practically feel his husband pale through the line. His voice gets that uneasy, insecure touch he hasn’t heard since Cobblepot used to be an umbrella boy.

“I, I, I didn’t send anybody,” he stammers out, almost sniveling and then he says something that convinces Jim he’s truly done for.

“Fuck,” his elegant, well mannered, husband curses and Gordon nearly drops his phone.

“What did you do, Oswald?” Jim almost whimpers as the shooting begins again. This kind of army doesn’t show up only cause he accused his spouse of being a gangster at a dinner.

“The interview after the inauguration. I might have said someone should teach you a lesson. You know, because of your speech….” The other man’s voice cracks.

“Might?!” Jim rages. “Might?! Oswald, stop this insanity. I’m…”

The call ends when Zsasz puts a well-placed bullet through Gordon’s phone.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Need Some Sleep?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has been shot and just wants to sleep. Harvey, Selina, and Oz are opposed to that decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems I can't stop hurting poor Jim. But after the hurt comes comfort, right? I'm grateful for each and every comment. Hopefully, I won't disappoint you.

Jim Gordon would have never thought he’d one day be happy about someone aiming a freaking bazooka of all things at his flat. But here he is - incredibly relieved someone had had the decency to blow a hole into his back wall so he can escape.

Without any more ammo, he can’t do anything but run for his life. Bare feet slapping against wet concrete, he races through Gotham’s dark streets. Despite being only clad in an undershirt and a pair of boxers, he doesn’t feel the ice-cold wind or the rain on his skin. Equal parts adrenaline and fear are pulsing through his veins, urging him to go faster and making him immune to the pain he for sure will feel once he’ll be given a rest.

Rounding a corner, Jim nearly slips when plunging into a puddle of freezing water. Collecting himself, he pushes on. One of Ozzie’s safe-houses is close by, only one more street from where he’s standing. Gritting his teeth and taking a deep breath, Jim chases off, ignoring his worsening stitches stubbornly. It's close, so close. All he has to do is to ignore the pain just a little longer.

He doesn’t make it far, though. All of a sudden, _something_ wraps itself around his ankle and sends him crashing to the ground, head first. Groaning, he rolls to the side, tries getting up but fails when the world starts spinning too violently.

The first thing he clearly sees when his vision stops being anything more than a blur is a black boot. Reluctantly, he looks up, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. The boot is connected to none other than Selina Kyle. The girl is aiming for looming menacingly over the detective, yet fails miserably. Besides, he just knows her for too long. To him, she’s still just a little kid playing with knives and, right now, whips.

Growling, the detective tries getting up, but Selina has other plans. Pressing him firmly down with her foot, she fixes him to the ground. The struggling man beneath her grabs her foot tries shoving her off of him, yet to his utter amazement, suddenly lacks the strength.

Still on the ground, wondering how he can’t get up, Jim watches how Selina’s lips curl into an amused grin. “Rumour has it,” she starts, self-satisfied, “the Penguin put a bounty on your head.”

“Really,” Jim drawls in response, the word coming out a bit slurred. The wetness from the ground and the cold is obviously getting to him.

“Jup,” the little cat nods smugly. “And I’ll be the one to collect it.” He only nods in response, dumbfounded.

Maybe, Jim should feel a tad bit embarrassed about getting dragged to the Penguin by a teenager, but at this point, he honestly doesn’t care anymore. He’s sore, he’s tired, cold, soaked to the bone and exhausted. May Cat have her cash if he can just curl up in his bed while Oz spins a tale about how he allegedly tortured him for days. Well, not as if Oswald isn’t capable of torturing him in bed, Jim muses while dropping his head back and drifting off to sleep.

“Hey!” Selina hollers all of a sudden, slapping his cheek forcefully.

“Huh?” Jim replies, baffled. Wasn’t he just in his bed already? Squinting hard, he takes in the scenery. He’s still on the ice-cold pavement, still soaked and deadbeat. “What am I doing here?” he asks in confusion.

“Right,” Selina says, her expression a tad bit worried. “Let’s get you up,” she declares determinedly but fails in hauling the heavy man to his feet. Jim collapses back on the ground like a deadweight.

“What’s wrong with you?” she grumbles but Jim notes a flash of panic in her eyes. At this point, he isn’t sure what she’s worried about. He just wants to sleep, so why doesn’t she let him? In the distance, Jim can hear footsteps and cars approaching. A gun is being fired off and as a policeman, he should probably go and investigate. Yet, he can’t. He’s glued to the ground and intent on falling asleep.

The streets seem to be fuzzy around the edges and Jim wonders if he maybe had one too many at the party.

“Jim!” Selina’s voice is intent, yet distant. The detective wonders how such a thing is even possible. Later, he thinks, drifting off again.

Suddenly, he’s being pulled from the ground and a muscular arm steadies his waist forcefully.

“I got you, pal,” a familiar voice reassures him while simultaneously pushing him along. “We need to hurry up, the killer squad will be here any minute.”

“Harvey?” Jim asks, bewildered.

“The one and only,” he confirms. “Come on, Jim,” he mutters.

“Hey!” Selina protests. “I found him first! You can’t just take him away.”

“Can and will,” Harvey snaps back. “If you haven’t noticed, missy, he’s been shot.”

Jim frowns. He hasn’t been shot, he would have noticed such a thing, for sure. He isn’t in pain, either. He’s just terribly tired and all of a sudden, Harvey’s shoulder looks very inviting.

“Stay with me, partner,” Harvey urges, shaking him slightly and Jim gets a hold of himself. Looking down at his chest, he notes a dark patch on the front of his undershirt. A patch that keeps getting bigger and bigger the longer he’s staring at it. Gingerly pressing his hand against the spot, Jim hisses. It’s the exact moment the pain sets in and Jim’s feet nearly give out. If not for Harvey, he would have dropped to the ground.

Cracking her whip, Selina blocks their path effectively. “There’s a bounty on his head, and I’ll collect that!” she grouses. 

“The man is dying!” Harvey bites back, slowly losing his patience.

“Tough luck. His corpse will be appreciated, too.”

At that, the older detective barks out a humorless laugh. “Missy, I would almost let you test that theory just to see the Penguin’s reaction. But not tonight. Move!” he then hisses venomously, trying to push past Selina.

Jim just hangs uselessly at his side, the pain slowly taking over his remaining brain functions. He winces with each step they take, one hand pressed firmly to the bleeding wounds. Making a gurgling noise, he spits some blood on the ground. Harvey stiffens beside him at the sound and quickens his pace.

In response, Selina simply cracks her whip again.

“If the killer squad arrives before you move, you’ll get nothing,” Harvey debates, trying for a more sensible approach. At last, that seems to work cause Selina finally lowers the damn whip. “I’ll strangle Tabitha myself for giving that kid a whip,” he murmurs beside Jim.

“Alright,” she says. “But you'll come with me,” she commands. “One of Penguin’s old safe houses is right around the corner.” If Jim wasn’t already so far gone, he would have laughed. It’s no surprise the nosy little punk knows about the hideout.

“Anything you want, princess,” Bullock growls in response as he starts dragging Jim along. “You could at least try to use your legs,” he complains, yet Jim can see the alarm in the other man’s eye. “Just a few more steps,” he coaxes. In the distance, the younger detective can make out the sound of rapidly approaching cars and footsteps.

Clenching his jaw, he forces himself to keep up with Harvey’s speed and half runs, half lets himself being pulled towards safety.

Once in the safe-house, Jim falls unceremoniously onto the next suitable surface, which is a moth-eaten sofa. Oz for sure hasn’t used that location in a long time, else there would be more of his usual grandeur. Not that Jim is being particularly interested in his surroundings right now. In fact, the detective just wants one thing: sleep.

A traitorous little voice in his mind though keeps telling him that that would be in fact a terrible idea. Yet, he can barely hold on.

Jim can make out some frantic movement on Harvey’s part but is too weak to do anything but pressing his hands more firmly against his bleeding wounds. He’s becoming more sluggish with each second passing by and it slowly dawns on his, that he will most likely die. Finally losing his grip on reality, his hands drop uselessly to the side.

“Stop the bleeding!” Harvey yells frantically and Jim wonders if his friend’s voice had always been that loud. It makes his head hurt.

“I’m not your maid,” Selina snaps back and Jim chuckles in amusement. The kid had always had a rebellious streak. Bruce should better strap in for a bumpy ride with that one. Maybe he can give the boy some tips on how to handle a relationship with a headstrong criminal. At least he’s got some experience to draw on. But then the boy isn’t conventional either, so he’ll probably be fine.

The cheerful mood doesn’t last long, though. Suddenly, he’s being hit with the very bleak realization of currently dying on a foul-smelling couch, listening to his best friend and a criminal bickering. He won’t be giving advice any time soon. He won’t be able to see his husband, either.

Jim’s heart clenches. He doesn’t want to die but the pull is too strong, keeps him dragging down.

“The man has saved your sorry ass more time than I can count!” That’s Harvey’s voice, certainly quite upset with something. Jim wants to tell him it’s no use being angry at the kid. He’d much rather have some last moments with his best friend. He should probably tell him how sorry he is about all the shit he put him through - and for not inviting him to the wedding. If anyone deserves the title of best man, it’s certainly Harvey Bullock.

“Fine,” she huffs. “But I didn’t ask him to!”

“Now press your filthy paws against his chest before I’m calling your boyfriend and tell him you let Jim Gordon die!” If he could, Jim would scoff. Judged by the look on the boy’s face whenever she enters a room, there isn’t much if nothing he wouldn’t forgive her.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Selina grumbles but obediently starts pressing her hands against his chest. A horrified gasp escapes her when inspecting the damage done to his body more thoroughly and Jim wonders why she’s even pressing.

He’s done. There’s no chance in hell he’s gonna make it to a hospital in time, not with this army of freakazoids on their heels. He just wishes Oswald was here and he could look into these green eyes just once more. When first seeing those eyes, he was practically rendered speechless. How could anyone ever wish to kill such beauty, Jim wonders? Even beaten and bloodied at that damn dock, Oswald would shine. To him, he still does.

He should probably be mad at his husband for getting him killed, the blonde man muses. Instead, he just misses his Ozzie desperately, wishes he could wrap his arms around him for a last time and drift off to sleep.

Snapping his eyes open, James Gordon fights to stay awake. Who’ll take care of his little murderous psycho-birdie now? With his mother and him gone, Oswald would be terribly alone, Jim thinks as his head wobbles uselessly to the side. Besides, there will be nobody around now stopping him from throwing a tantrum and going on a daily murder spree. If Oz just hadn’t insisted on playing that idiotic game!

“When will the GCPD arrive?” Selina asks Harvey, more quietly this time.

“Not at all,” the other man replies between desperate attempts of keeping Jim awake. “They refused to come between Jim and the Penguin.” That’s no wonder. Except for Jim, every cop in Gotham had openly sided with the new mayor. His colleagues will probably be more than pleased to see the obstacle Jim Gordon finally gone forever.

“And now?” The young girl demands to know. “We can’t just leave here on our own.”

“We’ll call the Penguin,” Harvey states resolutely while reaching for his phone. Inwardly, the younger detective rejoices. At least he’ll be given the chance of hearing his man, even if he can’t see him.

“You want to do what?” Selina shouts in response. “He’s going to kill him!” She adds, horrified. Jim snorts in response. His husband has already killed him. Earlier that day, Jim had told his husband how he would be his ruin. Looking back, that statement could not have been more accurate. He wishes he hadn’t said that, after all. Jim doubts Oz would think it’s funny.

“You were happy enough to hand him in yourself only moments ago,” Harvey snaps back.

“I was just messing around with him!”

The shrill voice momentarily bringing him back to his senses, he asks weakly, “Going to my Oz?”

“Yeah, we’re going to Oz.” Harvey nods, swallowing heavily around the unfamiliar nickname for the gangster. Smiling like a loon, Jim grabs his friend’s hand. “Tell him I love him.”

“Sure, will do,” the detective replies, patting him awkwardly while Selina sputters, removing her hands from Jim’s multiple gunshot wounds.

“Keep pressing,” Bullock orders angrily and Jim could laugh outright. He’s got three bullet wounds. If Oz doesn’t come with a surgeon and some blood bottles, it’s futile anyway. At least he’ll hang on a bit longer with Selina applying steady pressure.

“Did he just say?” Selina’s voice is even more incredulous than Harvey’s back at the party.

“Yes! Now keep pressing or the Penguin will both gut us like a fish!”

“Ozzie wouldn’t hurt you,” Jim protests, looking Bullock straight in the eye.

“Ozzie will be very mad and very unpredictable when hubby is gone, so don’t test my luck, Jimbo. Do you hear me? Stay awake before your psychotic husband skins me with his teeth.” Applying more pressure to the wounds, the other man gives Gordon a particularly hard squeeze, causing him to wince.

“His WHAT?” Selina cries, practically screaming into Jim’s ear now. “Did you just say _husband_?”

“You heard me, kid. And now keep going while I’m trying to call that lunatic. Jim, Jim, Jim! I need a number.”

“Right, I’m outta here,” Selina declares, already removing her hands and readying herself to go.

“You’ll stay right here!” Harvey hollers.

“I’m not suicidal!” the little cat hisses back.

“For the last fucking time: STOP THE BLEEDING! Or we’ll both end up as fish fodder. And I swear, if I’m going down, you’ll go too.”

Jim only realizes their argument very vaguely at this point. He’s bleeding out, drifting constantly in and out of consciousness. Trapped in his state of half dreaming, he barely notices the Penguin finally arriving.

Jim is on the beach, waves crashing against the shore and the sun warming his pale skin. It’s his first holiday in years and he’s just lounging in a chair, enjoying the wind in his hair. He can see his husband in the distance, carrying two cocktails, decorated with hideous little umbrellas. Oz isn’t limping but walking like a man without a care in the world, smiling brightly at him.

“James!” he calls, waving the glass and nearly spilling the drink. Jim only smiles back, too lazy to get up and happy he and his husband finally left Gotham for a weekend.

“James!” he calls again, more urgently this time and the detective frowns.

“James!” Oswald’s voice is frantic now, verging on hysterical and way too high.

Finally, Jim moves. He’s running along the beach, trying to reach his husband. His eyes are too bright, practically swimming in tears and he looks ashen. Lips trembling, Oswald drops the glasses down.

Suddenly he’s lying atop of Jim, pressing his hands against his heart over and over again. His weight is uncomfortable, bony legs dig painfully into his ribs and Jim gasps for air.

Oswald is sobbing hopelessly, screaming like mad and the detective is at a loss, can’t fathom what happened. Jim wishes Oz would stop making those distressed, aborted sounds that tug at the very strings of his heart.

“Oswald!” he yelps, gathering his very last morsels of energy, hoping that would make the bird stop from what he’s doing. And then there’s just blackness. 

  
  



	5. Jim says No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, Jim ain't dead! How could I kill Ozzie's husband? Jim is fine and he and Oz will start working out how to proceed from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while but I needed to finish my other multi-chapter story. Please forgive me!

Jim stretches his leg, turns to the other side and breathes a sigh of relief. 

The blanket covering him is unmistakably made from one of those ridiculously expensive fabrics Ozzie is so very fond of. It's warm, not too heavy, big enough to wrap himself up three times and wonderfully soft. 

Snuggling deeper into the covers, his hands start searching for his husband. He inhales the familiar mixture of washing powder, flowers - for his spouse always needs a bouquet in their bedroom - and something that is uniquely Oswald. 

The detective yawns groggily. Obviously, the last couple of hours have been a bad dream. All that blood, pain, his husband sending a killer squad after him… Thankfully, it never happened. 

Jim must have had one too many for he can't remember how he got from his shabby apartment to the mansion but that doesn't matter now. What matters is that he's warm, safe and comfortable.

His hands keep wading through pillows, blankets, and covers, still looking for his spouse. After the dream he had, Jim really needs to pull him close and feel his presence. 

They come back empty. Sighing, the cop realizes his gangster is probably already up and plotting. Hopefully, Oz won't kick him out before breakfast. Jim could really use a cup of coffee, some pancakes and at least five uninterrupted minutes with his husband before another grimy day in Gotham starts.

Despite being married, Jim most of the time rather feels like having a shady affair. The thought is enough to render him wide awake at once. 

He throws the covers back just in time with the very topic of his thoughts entering the room, a very livid Harvey and a fascinated Selina in tow.

“Jim! You are awake!” Oswald exclaims with obvious alleviation. And before Jim has a chance to ask what his friend and the young thief are doing in their bedroom, he’s got both his hands full with a quivering Penguin. 

Uncaring about their audience, he wraps his arms tightly around Jim’s body. The detective can feel little tremors rocking through his body as Oswald starts sobbing uncontrollably against his shoulder. 

“Oz, what happened?” the detective asks in bewilderment as he reciprocates the hug. Instead of answering, the gangster continues to hold him in a vice-like grip and Jim is sure he’ll never get up from this bed again. 

“You died,” Harvey supplies helpfully while witnessing, torn between amusement and horror, how Oswald practically climbs into Jim’s lap, still sobbing as if the world was ending. Selina, on the other hand, just gapes, mouth wide, open at the scene unfolding in front of her eyes.

“Penguin!” the older detective barks. “You might want to remember there’s a kid present before you start dry humping your hubby dearest.”

Oswald shortly stiffens but doesn’t let go of Jim, only turns his head enough to scowl furiously at Harvey. “Just get her out then!” he chokes out, voice hoarse. “And you too,” he adds furiously. 

“Like hell I am,” Harvey snaps back. “First I need to know what you did to him.”

“What do you mean?” Jim stutters out when finally managing to detach his head enough from Oswald’s shoulder to breathe again. It’s always amazing how much strength the delicate mobster possesses he thinks as he cautiously tries getting him off of his lap and beside him on the four-poster bed. 

“Nothing,” the criminal declares, way too cheerfully for Jim’s liking. 

“You got shot five times and conked out in a fucked up safe-house,” Selina explains. Obviously, she has found her voice again after Oswald finally detaching himself from Jim. “I wish that was the weirdest shit I have seen all night.”

“How much do you remember, buddy?” Harvey asks, concerned. 

Closing his eyes, Jim flops back against the pillows. He shortly glances at Oswald. The recently crowned King of Gotham looks like a mess: mascara and Kajal smudged, his eyes are red-rimmed and the usually perfectly styled hair hangs down in loose, greasy strands. On top, his gangster looks like a kid caught with its hands in the cookie-jar. It doesn’t suit his ruthless little criminal. Ozzie doesn’t look guilty. Ever. Not even when he stabbed Gabe 15 times. 

Ever so slowly the night comes crashing back: Jim’s lapse at the inauguration, Oswald giving his first interview as Gotham’s mayor, the killer squad at his heels, Zsasz taking him down. 

It had been real. All of it. 

He had actually died in that shabby room smelling of mold and filth. Jim should probably be scared, or mad, or angry at his husband for putting him into such a situation. Instead, he’s only numb - and exhausted to the point he just wants to curl up and go back to sleep again.

Jim exhales a small breath through his nose and touches his chest tentatively. Of course, it’s unharmed. 

“You resurrected me like Gabe?” he finally asks softly, not daring to look his husband in the eye. 

The mobster gulps but doesn’t respond. Jim feels little tremors rocking through his body when Oswald starts shivering again. 

“Oz?” he prompts, deliberately using his nickname. The syllable sounds oddly hollow, though. 

The man in question swallows and moves enough to lace his fingers with his. “No, not like Gabe,” he finally admits throatily. Cocking his head, he bites his lip, unsure how to proceed. “Obviously getting gunned down does more damage to the human body than a simple blade.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim registers Harvey moving to a nearby chair. His mouth is pressed into a thin line and if possible, his stare would burn holes into his husband’s back. Selina simply smirks in amusement.

“Go on, tell him what you did,” the detective growls and Jim feels his stomach drop. 

“Nothing you didn’t approve of!” Oswald hisses venomously, eyes blazing. 

“Oh come on,” Selina chimes in. “As if being immortal was a tragedy.” Grimacing she strolls over and settles down between the pair of them and finally, Jim locks eyes with his husband. 

The detective tries to control his breathing and the thoughts tumbling over each other. Squeezing the gangster’s hand slightly too forcefully he speaks. “Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot,” he starts, voice low, “what  _ exactly  _ did you do?”

The Penguin winces but doesn’t let go of Jim’s hand. His other hand wanders into his mouth and all of a sudden he’s very busy biting his nails. 

“Stop chewing your nails,” Jim growls. “It’s gross,” he adds, glaring at his husband and wondering why he’s suddenly more interested in his spouse’s bad habits than the recent upgrade done to his body. 

Taking a deep breath, Oswald finally confesses. “I’ve enlisted Victor Fries’ help.” His voice breaks off but after another forceful press to his hand, he carries. “He fixed you but...You won’t age from now on. And chances are you’re pretty much immortal. Well, if you don’t get shot in the head, or if your body doesn’t get entirely destroyed.”

“Are you trying to tell me you turned me into a fuckin’ Zombie?” Jim shrieks, appalled. 

“No, no, no!” Oswald gasps, holding up his free hand up in surrender when Selina interrupts him.

“Oh please,” she scoffs. “What about those long faces? Jim is fine! He won’t age, he won’t die. Bring some champagne and forget about it. You all look as if he died after all.”

Leaning back she stares at the stucco decorating the ceiling. “Really a shame to be filthy rich, forever young and immortal,” she notes drily. “By the way, I’m famished. Any chances there’s something to eat in this palace?”

Burying his head in his hands Oswald groans. “Yes, just go to the kitchen. And take Harvey with you.” The detective starts to protest but Jim gives him a positively pleading look and with a shake of his head he follows the girl into the kitchen. 

The sudden silence does nothing for Jim’s racing nerves. Still trying to wrap his head around the new information the only thing that comes to the detective’s mind is some white noise buzzing at the back of his head. What does that even mean, being immortal? Selina is right: not aging and getting shot at his job without having to worry too much doesn’t even sound half bad. Especially in a city like Gotham. 

But there’s a reason he and Oswald both agreed turning to weird voodoo science only as the last resort. There is a reason the mobster never allowed Strange or Fries to fix his leg.

“Right,” Jim finally declares, rubbing his face wearily. It’s not like he feels any different than before. Maybe Fries did only excatly what Oswald had asked him to. “What side-effects are to be expected?”

“According to Fries? None other than the ones I mentioned.” A humorless laugh escapes the gangster’s throat. “It’s already bad enough,” he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut.

Still better than being dead, Jim thinks. Although, if not for his husband’s temper, they wouldn’t be having that conversation. 

The detective never craved a drink more in his life before. Getting up, he walks over to the cabinet and pours himself a generous amount of gin. He swallows the whole drink in one go. 

“Jim! It’s only 10 a.m.,” Oswald protests. 

“It’s not like I have to worry about my liver anymore,” Jim retorts drily. Maybe he’s getting exactly what he deserves. After all, he betrayed his morals and this city when teaming up with a murderer. And as much as he loves Ozzie - he’s a ruthless killer and a feared criminal controlling almost every part of the city. The fragile seeming man before him wouldn’t hesitate to cut another human’s throat for his own benefit. Just the ones lucky enough to be loved by him would live to see his generous, tender-hearted side. 

Like a god, Oswald feels entitled to decide who lives or who dies and Jim just  _ somehow _ managed to shut this fact out so long. His husband divides the world into humans he cares for and disposable creatures. And now Jim’s paying the price. He’s practically bereft of the decision if he’s allowed to live or to die. Ozzie declared he must live, so he must live. Just as easily, his husband could and would dispose of him if his usefulness expired. 

And against all odds, he loves this pale, manic, cruel creature with all his heart. When killing Galavan, Jim surrendered completely. It’s too late for him to go back. 

And didn’t Oswald bring peace to his beloved city? Didn’t he fulfill his wish and lowered the crime rates? Hasn’t murder become an exotic occurrence under his reign? What would have possibly happened without the Penguin stopping the Valeska twins? Would Jeremiah have really blown up all the bridges? What would have happened if Sofia Falcone would have returned? Miami suffers under her whims and cruelty but thankfully, she doesn’t dare going up against the Penguin. 

But still... how is Jim supposed to carry on? Maybe he deserves getting shot at and getting beaten for being the Penguin’s alleged enemy regularly. Maybe he would have deserved to die last night. Yet, he simply wants to break down and scream. He almost died and now he never will. How is he supposed to feel knowing he’ll still be there when everyone he loves is long gone? 

Are there countless nights to follow the previous? All in exchange for brief moments of bliss, sneaking in and out of his home like a thief and throttling his husband in public for everyone’s amusement? His life has become a bad TV show and Jim isn’t writing the script. 

Oswald stays silent while the detective downs one gin after another, working hard on getting drunk. 

“I couldn’t be used as leverage anymore,” he says out of the blue, swirling the delicate crystal glass in his hands.

“Actually, you could now be more than ever,” Oswald replies, always three steps ahead. “My enemies could torture you for weeks without fearing for you to perish. And should they find out you’re worth enough for me to resurrect you…” The gangster shrugs. 

“Figures,” Jim agrees, raising his glass. 

“So, it’s now more important than ever to keep our marriage a secret,” Oswald concludes and finally Jim puts his foot down. 

“No,” he says decidedly. “We are going public and not even you will stop me.”


	6. For Your Own Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim wants to tell the world about his marriage and the Penguin agrees - on his terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took me so long! I hope you still like this chapter. Also, I promise there will be a happy ending. The boys just need to work it all out.

“Jim, darling you aren’t thinking straight,” Oswald tells him, head cocked slightly. Reaching tentatively for his hand he adds,” you have just been resurrected, love. Best you spend the day in bed and…”

“And who’s fault exactly is that?” Jim growls back with a snarl harsh enough to challenge the hounds of hell. His gangster-husband has at least the decency to flinch. It takes the cop every ounce of willpower not to lash out and slam his spouse against the nearest wall like back in the first days of their association. 

Jim closes his eyes as he breathes in deeply through his nose. He has never turned to violence during a fight with his partner and he for sure won’t start today. Brutality has no business in the bedroom and according to Jim, it has no business in a relationship whatsoever. 

But today is his personal breaking point. After years of getting beaten up by thugs and Victor Zsasz to keep their marriage a secret, and even dying for injuring his husband’s pride, Jim is finally fed up. That’s for sure not how he envisioned his marriage. 

The detective snorts. He doesn’t believe for a single second that on top to his immortality eternal youth had been necessary to save his life. Him staying young could very well be an improvement Oswald has made solely to feed his ego. The kingpin is just that vain, Jim thinks bitterly.

Not saying a further word, he starts dressing. Oswald still sits on the bed, looking slightly helpless and lost. The sight usually tugs at Jim’s heartstrings but not today. Today he’s too furious to care about the sociopath he agreed to spend his life with. 

“Where are you going?” the criminal asks, voice small. 

Jim doesn’t answer, just keeps tying his shoe-laces. 

“Jim?” the kingpin tries again, voice barely above a whisper and the detective gives in.

“Work,” he barks, barely restraining himself from flashing his teeth at his man like a werewolf. “I suppose Olga is starting work soon enough,” he carries on. “We can’t have her seeing me here, can we?” he finishes snippily. 

Oswald opens his mouth, pale green eyes shining from unshed tears but no sound escapes him. Pushing past his husband, Jim walks towards the door. Expectedly, the mobster scrambles after him. 

“You can’t go out there. Jim, you are supposed to be dead!” he shrieks, frantically pulling at his sleeve. The detective grits his teeth while shaking him off.

This time, he won’t give in. Oswald might like it or not, but Jim won’t stay inside and hide. He’ll go to work like every day, place his husband’s picture on his desk like every other married detective and tell his colleagues that they can finally relax because he’s for sure not in the way of their beloved crime-king. Quite the contrary, in fact.

“Just be reasonable, love,” Oswald whines desperately. “Every low-life in Gotham is out for your blood, honey. If you go to work, the precinct will turn into a war-zone. Just think about your precious colleagues!” the mobster cries, finally succeeding in stopping his stubborn man. 

“Call them back then!” 

“Jim, love, light of my life…” he chuckles hysterically in response while the detective waits, patience wearing thinner with every second passing by. 

“I’m done with hiding,” Jim cuts in. 

“I know, I know,” the mobster squawks, holding up one hand placatingly. “I’m just asking you for a bit more time. You have to admit our relationship is a tad bit unusual and the revelation of it should be handled with the adequate caution.” 

“Oh, you mean the way  _ you  _ dealt with our  _ marriage _ before?” Jim challenges acidly, putting extra emphasis on the word “marriage”. “Like sending Zsasz after me and beating me up in public?” he demands to know, raising his chin defiantly. 

The mobster flinches. “I have to admit, that was a mistake, love. I suppose my paranoia is to be blamed for that. I promise it won’t happen again.” He chortles nervously again as he nods, eyes big and puppy-like.

“You had all the time in the world to make it known that we are married. You are not some little umbrella-boy anymore but Gotham’s mayor! I’m sick of sneaking in and out of our house like we are having a dirty affair and I’m sick of Zsasz beating me up on a weekly basis!”

“Darling, I promise…”

“Years! We are playing this charade for years now!” the detective hollers, clenching his hands into fists. 

“Just a couple more days!” Oswald bargains, distress written all over his features and the detective groans. His Bandido just knows exactly which buttons when and how to press. Lips quivering, tears glistening in the corner of his eyes, mouth hanging slightly open, the former snitch looks exactly like back on that infamous day on the pier when Jim first saved his life. 

The crestfallen expression worked back then and still works to some extent now cause Jim halts in his tracks. Reaching out, he wipes the tears from his face and cups his jaw gently. 

“I’m sorry,” Jim says earnestly. “But I won’t wait,” he finishes as he strides towards the door with new determination. 

Jim doesn’t make it far before the world turns black. 

The detective is almost certain he must have been shot again when waking up in an unknown bed, complete with a splintering headache. Groaning, he fights his urge to pull the blanket over his head and simply roll to the side to catch some more sleep. 

Instead, he forces his aching limbs to move and rids himself of the fabric pressing his body down. Eyes flitting rapidly across the room, he takes his surroundings in at the speed of the excellent cop he is. 

His new accommodation is surprisingly luxurious. The room is small, yet tastefully decorated. He can make out a plush Persian carpet, a fireplace, two dark-blue velvet sofas, and a kitchenette containing all necessities for a short stay. 

The next thing he notes is the lack of all windows and that’s exactly the moment everything clicks into place. 

“Oswald!” his voice all but explodes when realizing what his spouse has done. Jim practically catapults out of the bed and starts hammering at the door vis-a-vis the bed frantically. 

“This can’t be happening,” he thinks, appalled when slamming his fist against the neatly polished mahogany-door, over and over again. Of course, the damn thing is tightly closed. 

Harvey had been right after all. Oswald is nothing but a sneaky, malicious, back-stabbing, cowardly weasel. Filled with righteous anger, Jim takes a run-up and slams his shoulder into the door - hurting himself in the process and not even succeeding in causing a scratch. 

Wincing, he slides down to the floor while debating with himself if he should lock Oswald up in the GCPD holding cell the next time he turns up at the precinct, smiling like the damn sycophant he is.

Taking three deep breath, he tries to regain his composure. Failing spectacularly, he gets up, picks up the vase from the coffee table next to the sofa and throws the expensive looking thing his husband is for sure pretty fond of into the fireplace. 

Panting heavily, he looks for something else to destroy when the door suddenly opens and Oswald shyly steps inside the room. 

Judged by his appearance, Jim must have spent a couple of hours in this room. The mobster has found the time to fix his hair, which is now piled up into an odd looking tower, distantly reminding him of eighties glam-rockstars complete with a shiny grey frock. The impeccable clothing looks slightly crumpled which means Oswald has been wearing it all day already.

Scowling viciously, Jim picks up an empty decanter and throws it after the vase. The criminal recoils in response. 

“That was Baccarat crystal,” he explains gently, eyes flittering between Jim and the fireplace.

“I’m just treating the darn thing like you’re treating our marriage,” Jim replies sourly while scanning the room for more stuff to smash. 

“Love, I’m just trying to protect you.” His voice is soothing as if he is talking to a particularly stubborn horse. The man’s calmness only adds to Jim’s anger. 

“By locking me up?” he hollers, crossing the small room swiftly and backing his spouse up against the wall. He’s caging the criminal with his body, making it impossible for the scrawny creature to move. 

Swallowing hard, he tries forming a response but fails when locking eyes with his husband. Jim is practically vibrating from rage when pressing a firm hand against Oswald’s chest, pinning him in place. The criminal quivers under his touch and then relaxes, becoming pliant for whatever Jim decides to do with him. He probably knows full well the detective won’t harm him. Not unless it’s demanded of him. 

Jim snorts when the mobster parts his lips, flush spreading over his cheeks. His husband is truly one kinky creature, always willing to get manhandled by him and for a second something akin to disgust rockets through Jim. It’s just what they do: hurting each other but never crossing a delicately drawn line while lying to each other and everyone else.

Taming his wrath, the detective figures he can definitely use Oswald’s weakness to his advantage. Sliding a leg between his man’s thighs, he presses him even more firmly against the wall, smirking when the flush deepens.

Leaning into his personal space, breath hot against Oswald’s ear, he whispers,” Release me at once or…” He lets the threat hang in midair, pleased with the gangster’s reaction to his close proximity. Breathing coming in out in ragged puffs, the criminal has for sure trouble forming a coherent sentence. 

“Or?” he wants to know at last. 

“Or nothing,” Jim finishes, pushing himself away from the wall and the Penguin in one smooth movement. “Or we are done here. I take it I’m being held in the basement?” he demands to know, arching an eyebrow at his husband. 

Oswald nods his affirmative. “Good. I don’t consent to be a hostage at my own home. You’ve gone too far. Again.”

“Jim, darling…” The weak protest dies off when Jim takes another step back. 

“This is supposed to be our home. And you locked me up!” Jim yells, losing his self-control for good. 

“I...I….wouldn’t call you my hostage,” the kingpin stutters, chewing his nails nervously. “I’d rather…”

“So how would you call it?! Does that mean I  _ can _ walk out of here without getting beaten up by one of your gorillas? Answer me!” Jim requires furiously. He wonders what he must look like, only clad in a pair of boxers and a shirt, yelling at the top of his lungs. His husbands' tantrums for sure left their mark on him. 

“In my home, my own home!” Jim carries on, unfazed. “One is supposed to feel safe in their own home, not a goddamn hostage!”

“But I figured out how to introduce you the world as my husband,” Oswald retorts in a small voice, head hanging low and the detective stops his rant for a minute. 

“Really?” he drawls. 

“Really!” Oswald nods way too eagerly, voice high and frantic. “I figured I’ll have you locked up a couple of days and when you come back, we’ll just say Zsasz fixed you!”

And that’s it. The final straw. Mouth hanging open, Jim stares at his proudly beaming husbands who started pacing the small room merrily. He can’t be serious, can he? 

Oswald considers chewing his thumb but thinks better of it as he stares at Jim, hopeful and anxiously.

“So, what you are trying to say,” the cop starts, still incredulous and deliberately slow, “you did not only turn me literally into a zombie, you are also going to tell the world I’m your personal zombie? Some kind of brain-washed pet of yours?”

The gangster cringes but Jim isn’t done yet. “That’s just wonderful,” he exclaims in mock enthusiasm, throwing his hands up. “Cause a pet is absolutely worthless! People wouldn’t even think about going after me cause, cause..” He can’t even finish the sentence when his brain short-circuits from all the bottled up rage. He really needs to smash something or shoot at something, else he might just explode on the spot. 

“Love…” Oswald tries but Jim cuts him off again. 

“No,” he growls. “Just get the hell out of here. I’ll play my part for the next couple of days but when this is done, I’m filing for divorce.”

The Penguin squeaks at that. It’s a sound of pure distress and agony but Jim doesn’t budge, simply turns his back and waits for the sound of the door to close behind his spouse. And for the first time in years, Jim Gordon sits down and cries. 


	7. Love You Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim bangs some sense into Oswald. Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took me so long! RL came in the way as well as new ideas for fics *throws confetti*. But to make it up to you, I wrote smut! *hides and hits the post button* 
> 
> I sincerely hope you like it. And again, I'm really sorry.

Even when having an existential crisis, there’s only so much you can do when being locked up in your own home’s basement. Jim is alternating between experiencing fits of rage and despair.

How dare Oswald hold him prisoner in their shared mansion? Well, it’s not even a shared place. It never was, Jim realizes. Does his husband ever even loved him or did he always regard him as his personal possession? The sheer audacity to tell the world he’s some kind of brain-washed pet. The cop can hardly breathe from anger.

Yet, it’s his very own fault. His track record when it comes to relationships is godawful. Each and every person he ever had an interest in turned out to be a psychopath at some point and Ozzie is decidedly the king of them. What was he expecting anyway when marrying a mob boss who won’t hesitate to stab his enemies right into their necks?

Despite all their shared years, Oswald, the Penguin, doesn’t value human life. Rather prefers regarding others as obstacles - with only a few exceptions.

Like him.

Jim once thought he might be able to change that. The bitter truth is, Oswald only contained his temper for Jim. Deep down, he’s still a stab-happy lunatic.

Well, that’s one side of the truth. He’s also loyal to a fault, he’s passionate, loves without abandon and all in all, is a force of nature, he reminds himself. Jim fell for the contradiction that is his husband and together they made Gotham a safer place.

Could he really leave all that behind? All those shared years in which they played mob bosses, fooled the GCPD and protected each other? God, how awful it felt to lie to his colleagues, especially Harvey. He pretended to be this self-righteous man while literally sleeping with the mob.

It hadn’t been easy to admit that he was in love with a gangster. But at some point it became inevitable. How many times did he allow Oswald to get away with crimes others would serve a life sentence in Blackgate for? He watched him take down Falcone, Maroni, and Mooney, watched him beating little tugs to a pulp without raising so much as a finger. And at one point, when truly realizing what the ingenious bastard was capable of, he actively started helping him while slamming his back into walls for the public.

Gotham prospered while Jim’s morals withered and faded to dust.

How on Earth did they even get away with their charade for so long? Didn’t their enemies wonder why Jim Gordon is still alive when others ended up with a bullet between their eyes only for calling the Penguin a freak? Wasn’t it obvious?

He told Oswald he’d be filing for divorce but that was in the spur of the moment. Imagining being at war with his husband churns his heart. Even thinking about it feels like getting his leg amputated without anesthesia. But he won’t allow him to get paraded around like a circus monkey. And he won’t continue playing this game of lies.

Reaching for his phone, Jim ponders giving his husband a call. He’s seriously worried their conflict else might be the cause of the premature death for some of his subordinates. The Penguin looked definitely shaken when leaving Jim behind in his prison.

Heatedly, Jim throws his phone away. Oswald wouldn’t dare to touch his employees if he really wants to stay married. He’s not going to give his man the satisfaction and cave in. No, instead he spends the next hours sulking in his room, waiting for his spouse to see reason.

Completely exhausted, he falls asleep.

When waking again, he notes two things right away. On the one hand, the entire room smells like cinnamon. On the other hand, he’s not alone anymore.

Oswald hovers over him, expression anxious. He’s holding a little tray loaded with fresh, warm waffles and whipped cream, looking the most erratic Jim has ever seen him. His eyes are red and puffy as if he’d been crying and his mascara is obviously smudged. He’s wearing that hideous make-up again that covers up his pale skin and never fails to make him look a bit like an orange.

The cop never understood why he uses it. His pale face in combination with those emerald eyes brought him to his knees after all. Oswald certainly has no concept of how beautiful he is. Shaking his head, he snaps out of it. It’s neither the place nor the time to appreciate his husband. Certainly not the place.

“Jim,” he exclaims when the detective gives him a discontented once-over. His lips spread into a wide smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I made you waffles,” he carries on ingenuously. “Your favorites,” he beams, almost knocking the tray against Jim’s jaw in his excitement.

“You think you can fix this mess with _waffles_?” Jim stares at him in bewilderment. If he doesn’t let him out the next minute he’ll get that whipped cream into his face and all over his beloved, decadent suit.

The smile drops from his face and if not for the tray Oswald would for sure either start biting his nails or fidgeting with his cane. “I, I thought it was a start?” he admits carefully averting Jim’s eyes.

“A start would be to release me,” the cop huffs while sitting up. Scooting a hand through his hair, he tries regaining some of his dignity - not an easy task when lying in bed, wearing a white shirt and shorts.

“I am sorry,” Oswald whines in response, finally setting the tray down. “I know what I did was wrong and I wanted to apologize and…”

“And so I’m free to leave, I hope?” Jim interrupts, glaring effectively at his spouse. The answer he receives is as frustrating as it is expected.

“Please wait.”

The detective rolls his eyes. “Then you can stuff your waffles where the sun never shines and get the hell back out,” he barks, pleased when the scrawny man looks genuinely shocked.

Swallowing hard, Oswald tries deciding what to do next. He doesn’t budge, probably painfully aware that Jim isn’t going to physically force him to leave. By now he definitely understands how uncomfortable his man is with violence.

His long, white fingers tremble slightly when he speaks again and his shoulders slump, bringing out the awkward shape of his spine more prominently. “I only ever wanted to protect you.” He searches Jim’s face after his confession. Hope the cop would understand written all over his features.

“Your protection got me killed,” Jim points out, tone cruel. Another spark of anger flares through Jim. Despite being constantly in pain, he doesn’t turn to one of Gotham’s various doctors to get his leg and back properly fixed but has absolutely zero qualms turning him into a zombie.

Well, not really into a zombie. Technically, he still feels human-ish enough but the point still stands. He just went and took a big part of what being human means from him without even asking. And what is it with his eternal youth? Was _that_ really necessary? His husband probably merely fed his vanity with that one.

Yes, he knows he’d be dead otherwise but….his thoughts trail off. And now Oswald thinks some stupid _waffles_ will fix that. It’s ludicrous. Jim doesn’t know what to do with himself.

It’s the exact moment Oswald’s determination cracks. Eyes filling with hot tears, the mobster sits down beside his husband. “Don’t you think I know that?” he whispers. “Don’t you think I know I made everything worse afterward? I panicked, okay?”

Wringing his hands, the King of Gotham becomes the pure picture of remorse. “You were _dead_ , Jim. And I didn’t know what to do. I knew I could live in a world with you hating me but not in a world without you. And so I turned to Fries. Please, I’ll make everything to make it up to you!” he cries desperately.

Calmly, Jim picks up the bowl with the whipped cream. He truly had enough of his husband’s pathetic excuses. Sticking his finger inside the bowl, he tastes the cream. It’s good, refined with vanilla sugar just like he prefers it. Oswald meanwhile eyes him with rapt curiosity.

Good.

With one swift movement, he presses his face into the bowl, smearing the greasy cream all over his face, neck, and the collar of his shirt. The other man sputters indignantly when diving back up from the bottom of the bowl.

Jim bursts into laughter when observing his man gasping for air and trying to get the mass out of his eyes and hair. When flapping his hands around like that, he truly looks like a Penguin. A pretty enraged Penguin.

“Jim Gordon,” he accuses, smearing the whipped cream all over himself in his futile efforts to get rid of it. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you and..”

“You are not,” Jim interrupts more harshly than one would assume after his little joke. “You are trying to get your way. And as long as you are treating me like a prisoner, I’ll behave like an unruly prisoner.” Leaning casually back, he arches his eyebrow. “Or are you going to torture me next, hmm?” he urges.

“Of course not!” the mobster exclaims, appalled. “How dare you even think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jim drawls sarcastically. “Maybe cause you literally imprisoned me? Or cause you made me immortal without asking me first? Maybe because you didn’t stop there but gave me eternal youth as well so you can parade me around without being ashamed of me when I grow old. Or maybe because you decided to present me to the world as some brain-washed pet. How on earth do you want to make that up?!” he hollers, at last, dropping the indifferent facade.

Mouth hanging agape, the gangster stares silently at his cop for a long time. Breaking off a piece from the waffles, Jim dips it into the cream still covering his husband’s neck and starts munching. The King of Gotham squeaks unkingly and Jim chuckles mirthlessly anew.

The sad truth is, he might never find a greater love than Oswald. But everything considered, the divorce is inevitable. If there’s any pride left in Jim, he needs to walk away right now. His gangster might be sincere in his attempts to protect them both but that doesn’t give him the right to act the way he does.

Luckily for Oswald, there’s not too much pride left in Jim. The part of him that knows what’s wrong or what’s right died with Galavan and got stabbed for good measure in the months following that event. And despite telling himself what terrible fate Gotham might have awaited if he hadn’t done it, a part of him still misses the ambitious, goody-two-shoes boy he used to be.

“You are right,” the kingpin finally concedes with a heavy sigh. “I am selfish, Jim. But I would truly never hurt you. Not now, not in the future. Not if you stay, not if you leave.”

“You already hurt me. Multiple times,” Jim protests, dipping another piece of waffle nonchalantly into his husband’s neck. The ticklish mobster flinches but dutifully stays in place.

“Do you really want a divorce?” he demands to know at last, eyes big, pleading. A murderer shouldn’t have any right to look like an innocent puppy, Jim thinks as he moves behind him, wiping more cream from his pale throat. “Jim, I truly had no other choice. You were _gone_ and Fries was at my disposal.”

Deep down, Jim knows his gangster is probably not lying. He wonders what he would have done if their roles had been reversed. Tries imagining Oswald cold and dead beneath his fingers. Would he have turned to Fries or Strange too? Or would he have accepted fate and moved on.

The delicate, deadly creature trembles as he caresses Jim’s jaw. “Your eternal youth wasn’t my wish, I swear. I just had no idea what to do. Please believe me, Jim,” he pleads, eyes big and so damn earnest it pains his heart. Those eyes once made him kill a man. They made him kill the man he used to be. It’s just consequent those eyes make him accept immortality.

Closing his eyes, Jim once again succumbs to the darkness of his Penguin. Leaning in closer, he tastes that damn cream again. This time without the waffle as a barrier but directly from his skin.

Oswald gasps in surprise.

“This time, we’ll have it my way,” Jim whispers into his ear. “You’ll be a nice, good hubby and release me. And then you’ll tell Gotham we played them all for years. And if they dare threatening us, we’ll remind them who exactly they are messing with.” His tone is too serious for Oswald to protest.

Fingers curling possessively into his man’s hips, Jim gently bites down on his ear. “We’ll let them know what the GCPD and your army are capable of,” he promises portentously, sending shivers down Oswald’s crooked spine.

“But first.”

“Yes?” Oswald asks breathlessly.

“I’ll make you pay,” he vows, lips curling into a dark smile. He might give in, but first, he’s going to have his wicked way with the little Penguin.

The gangster shrieks when Jim catches him around the waist and manhandles him onto his back in the process. Pinning his hands beside his head, the cop looks very pleased when his man’s eyes darken from arousal.

Leaning down, he presses a bruising kiss against his man’s lips, effectively distracting the devious imp in the process. He yanks the cravat from his neck next, using the piece of garment to tie Oswald’s hands swiftly to the headboard. Giving the mobster his dirtiest smile, Jim he straddles his narrow waist while already starting to rip the buttons of his shirt open.

“Told you I’d find a more pleasurable use for shackles,” he growls against his mobster’s skin, sucking the remaining cream from his throat.

As hoped, his little gangster agrees so very eagerly. It’s probably the relief from not getting a divorce right away, Jim muses. They haven’t even started but Oswald is already gasping and writhing beneath his hands.

Chuckling mischievously the cop starts his journey south and despite his delicate man moaning impatiently, Jim knows no mercy. Taking his time, he drags his tongue over the delicate clavicles, slightly biting down when Oswald starts trashing too much. Strong, calloused fingers then count fine ribs one by one, cherishing each treasured bone extensively.

By the time Jim starts sucking his nipples, the mobster is practically mindless. Eyes rolling back into his head, he starts begging his man to fuck him already. Of course, Jim doesn’t comply. Sitting back on his haunches, he enjoys watching his man’s hips rolling towards him. Desperately thrusting into nothing, the gangster searches for some form of friction.

Oswald sighs in relief when thinking Jim has finally pity. Instead, the cop decides to tease him with featherlight kisses right above where he needs him the most.

“Jim,” he whines, tossing his head back and yanking ineffectively at his makeshift shackles.

“Yes?” he asks indifferently, ignoring his own raging hard-on. The gangster pulls again at his restraints, eliciting another lewd smirk from his husband in the process. He’s truly good with knots, Jim thinks proudly as he starts caressing his man’s thighs. Tired of playing, he finally frees him of his pants and drops his own shorts.

“I like you like that,” he confesses as he drags his nails lightly over the exposed skin. “Naked from the waist down, covered in whipped cream, and tied to a bed. There’s not much damage you can do like that,” he snickers while giving Oswald’s cock a playful lick from base to tip. In return, the mobster nearly yanks the headboard off. Trying to calm him down, he leans down for another heated kiss, thoroughly enjoying when he feels Oswald’s cock press against his stomach.

Wantonly spreading his legs, the criminal starts moving his hips, trying to increase the pressure on his leaking cock. A distressed, guttural sound escapes his throat and finally, Jim has mercy. Sneaking a hand between their bodies, he starts pumping both their cocks in a firm grip. It takes Oswald only seconds to cum hard over Jim’s fist.

It would be a lie to say Jim’s wasn’t still mad at his husband. But when he curls up against his chest, head placed directly over his beating heart, he’s got a hard time being as angry as he should be too. Despite himself, he kisses each reddened wrist carefully before settling against the pillows.

“I still don’t like what we are about to do,” Oswald confesses tentatively, looking up at him through his long lashes. The cop deliberately ignores him. He’s got Oswald exactly where he wants him to be and like hell, he’s going to backpedal now.

“That’s not negotiable,” Jim reminds him, fingers curling around his husband’s arm.

“I could keep you down here,” the mobster suggests casually and to Jim’s dismay, only half-jokingly. His grip tightens in warning.

“I wouldn’t,” he concedes. “What I did was horrid enough.” Propping himself up on one hand, he looks his spouse straight in the eye. “I was pretty much unable to think in the hours following your death and resurrection. I...losing you...it would have killed me too,” he confesses earnestly.

“You had enough mind left to poison me,” Jim points out but the heat is gone from his voice.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, averting his eyes again and blushing slightly. And that’s exactly when another alarm bell goes off in Jim’s head.

“You are hiding something,” he accuses as the mobster ducks his head behind the pillow.

“I’m not,” he squeaks unconvincingly.

Yanking the pillow from underneath his head, the cop glowers down at the rapidly paling form of his husband. “You would have died. What should I have done?”

“We’re past that. Try again,” Jim commands, giving his man his best severe stare. If possible, Oswald shrinks further into the mattress. 

“Jim,” he starts gently, lacking his usual confidence entirely. “Don’t you see the potential in being immortal?”

“No, not really,” he huffs in return. “I’m not really looking forward to seeing everyone I love die.”

Oswald’s slightly hopeful face drops as he starts nibbling his fingernails frantically. “Jim,” he tries again, and his tone would be perfect for a spooked horse. “Would it be better if not _everyone_ you love will die?”

Horror settling in his gut, the penny finally drops. “You didn’t?!” Jim practically screams.

Oswald’s silence is answer enough.

“When?” he sputters.

“Shortly before Ed snapped. But the procedure wasn’t perfected back then. It took me weeks to heal but that shot would have killed me else,” he admits pulling the blanket over his head like a child trying to hide.

Well, Jim should have known Oswald was serious when promising he’d love him forever. 


	8. My Exception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Oswald finally talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is rather short but it felt right to end right where I well...ended this. I hope you like it. I think it turned out rather cute :-)

Jim isn’t quite sure whether he should continue glaring furiously at his husband, strangle him, or wrap him into his arms while telling him everything is going to be alright.

At last, he settles for anger. It’s anyway his most common reaction to literally everything since coming to Gotham. He’s angry at his job, at the criminals, at his colleagues, at the politicians, at his ex-fiancées, and in a more general sense: at the entire world.

“How the hell could you keep that from me?!” the detective explodes, already knowing the answer. It might have something to do with his reaction.

“I,” Oswald licks his lips nervously while getting up into a sitting position. Having an argument is never pleasant. Having an argument while lying on your back with your belly bared is even less favorable.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d approve,” the gangster answers honestly.

“Damn right you are,” Jim growls in response. “You and your God complex. First, you think you are entitled to control all the crime in Gotham by handing out licenses and now you are the lord of life and death as well.” 

“Oh, stop it with the licenses,” the mobster sighs, exasperated. “You love them and they got me re-elected as mayor.”

That’s quite true but that doesn’t mean he’s going to cave in. As Oswald insists on keeping up pretenses, he’s forced to arrest gangsters with a license. Well, at least those who don’t play by the Penguin’s rules. Ironically, Gotham became a better place by establishing a system of maximum corruption.

“You still have a God complex,” Jim huffs while folding his arms across his chest.

“So you actually would have preferred for Nygma to kill me?” Oswald inquires, fixing his husband with a severe stare.

“I would have preferred you being honest with me,” the cop snaps back. Getting up, Jim snatches his clothes from the floor and walks to the bathroom. He really needs a moment to himself else this will only become a screaming match neither of them is willing to lose.

Standing under the spray, Jim tries to pin down what exactly he is upset about. It’s not like he’s ungrateful not to be dead. That’s not the issue. The part in which he’s practically immortal - well, Jim can’t quite wrap his head around that just yet.

Also, he isn’t mad about Ozzie still being alive. Quite the contrary. Even imagining his husband, this snarky, cheeky, violent, bigheaded creature, not breathing anymore, takes the breath from his lungs.

The underlying problem with him and Oswald was and always is the same: their lack of trust. The kingpin of Gotham doesn’t let him in on his plans, hardly ever discusses his vision for the city with Jim, or even admits openly being with him.

Maybe it’s because Jim is still, at his core, a just man. He considers most of the Penguin’s methods excessive. Not only once did he try stopping his husband from completing his revenge or committing murder - often much to Oswald’s dismay. And admitted, letting some of their enemies walk away would often turn out to be a bad decision in the future.

Like this whole Nygma debacle. When finding out about Ed’s machinations considering the Red Hood Gang Ozzie wanted to deal with him in his own fashion. Jim convinced him to let the mentally ill man walk away and what happened? Right, his husband got shot in the guts.

Oswald loves Jim’s ethics but at the same time, he mistrusts him for being who he is. Yet by now, he should understand how the Penguin always would be the exception to any of Jim’s rules. 

He should trust him by now. Loving someone or feeling the urge to protect your partner isn’t enough. Jim needs his psycho murder birdie to trust him but instead, he keeps enormous secrets from him. 

Inconsiderately, he talked about divorce when all he wants is a functioning relationship and not this train-wreck. Of course, it’s his fault too. He never called Ozzie out on how he treated their marriage, never told him he would always find a way to ignore his violent outbursts. Jim always thought his actions would speak for themselves.

Turns out, the crime-lord doesn’t even trust him enough to tell him about the precautions he took in case one of them would die. It’s disheartening, to say the least.

Jim almost expects Oswald to be gone when returning from his shower. Yet the mobster is still there, lying naked under the covers, waiting for Jim to come back. 

Sometimes Jim wonders how their life would have turned out if they had stayed at odds. Would the city be as quiet as it is? Would they both have found another love? Would they even be alive or would they have at one point gunned each other down? Would he have arrested Oswald one day and put him behind bars for good? Could he? 

He doesn’t want to think about it, honestly. The city blossoms under the Penguin’s reign and the price for that had only been for Jim to sacrifice a chunk of his morality while gaining _this_. It’s not a bad deal, everything considered.

“What else are you keeping from me?” Jim demands to know, tilting his chin slightly.

Oswald’s eyes are closed, he isn’t even looking at Jim. “Too much,” he admits with a heavy sigh, breaking Jim’s heart a bit further.

But here goes nothing. If he wants to save their marriage, he needs to press Oswald for answers or they truly might end up being enemies again. Not that he can even imagine how going up against his husband would turn out. The city would probably suffer considerably with the balance they had established gone.

“Why?” he asks, keeping his voice soft. Jim can be gentle when he wants. He’s anyway sick of being this rough, tough soldier.

Rolling onto the side, Oswald finally faces Jim. He shrugs. “I always loved you for being what you are. That idealistic, naive young man who came to Gotham to clean it up. I guess I only ever wanted to protect you.”

The detective can’t help but snort. That’s just so _Oswald_. He has a habit of ruining what he cares about the most. When it comes to what he loves, he’s seemingly unable to make good decisions.

“I haven’t been this young boy in a very long time. Maybe you just like the memory of who I was on the day we met,” Jim suggests.

“Maybe,” Oswald admits with a sad smile. 

“I married you,” the cop reminds him. “Knowing full well you are a murderous, cunning, little weasel. I loved you anyway,” he adds when Oswald’s mouth hardens. “I thought that would be proof enough for you to trust me.” 

“I never wanted you to be anyone else than who you had been,” the criminal tells Jim. “Who you are,” he corrects himself.

“Yeah, but you always wanted you to be my exception, right?” the cop urges. “And tell you what, you are. So stop keeping secrets, stop protecting me from truths you think I can’t handle.”

Oswald stays silent.

“I know who you are,” Jim carries on. “We never talk about it, but I have a very good idea about what you do. And I turn a blind eye to it. Constantly. I’m not a that bad cop I wouldn’t know about most of your machinations. I thought you would trust me by now.”

“If you knew _everything_ you’d get a divorce and throw me into Blackgate,” Oswald replies, seemingly nonchalant. The way he tenses gives him away though. He’s anything but relaxed.

“Maybe for once you should try me,” Jim suggests. “You married me too,” he whispers.

“I remember,” he answers dryly. He’s driving Jim insane with his attitude. It’s the reason he fell for him. “Would you have ever considered immortality if I hadn’t made this decision for both of us?” Oswald asks.

“No,” Jim answers honestly. “But I guess I would have moved heaven, earth, and hell to bring you back from the dead if our roles had been reversed.”

Oswald’s pupils widen in surprise at this revelation. “What?” Jim snaps. “Did you ever doubt I love you? I might be not alright with what you do and how you do it but I’d die for you. I live for you. I get beaten up by Zsasz every week to keep up appearances.”

The cop snorts. “I tried telling you the entire week. I want us to be together. But I can’t trust you if you go behind my back. And you don’t trust me enough to be open with me.”

The mobster on the bed nods. “Jim, I’m a murderer who runs a criminal empire. And you are a cop who is alright with that because I brought stability to this city that is so very precious to the both of us. But what I do, is exactly what you swore to stop when coming here.”

“And you think I’m not aware of that?”

“I still wait for the day you are not only aware but truly realize that,” Oswald whispers back. “That will be the day our relationship ends,” he continues, unaware of the tears streaming down his face. “It might not be today - or tomorrow. But the day will come. And when this day comes, you will be grateful our marriage had been kept a secret.”

Jim’s mouth drops open. He knew Oswald had been trying to protect him by keeping their marriage a secret. Now, he has to learn he’s thinking years ahead. He’s not only protecting him from their enemies - with decidedly questionable methods, but also from himself. If they should really go separate ways, his integrity would still be intact. The very integrity Jim is dead set on destroying.

The anger slowly drains from him. Maybe they do have a true chance after all that mess.

Clearing his throat, Jim walks over to the man he agreed to spend his life with. A life that is going to be a pretty long one now.

“Oz, look at me,” he demands, gently tilting the criminal’s chin up. “I am very aware. But I, _we_ , can’t continue like that. I am not ashamed of us being together. I might not like everything you do but I accept it. You _are_ my exception to all of my rules and I think it’s not me who’s got a problem with realizations but you.”

Oswald’s awe-stricken expression speaks volumes. The gangster’s eyes fill with tears as he wraps his bony arms around Jim’s middle. Head pillowed in Jim’s lap, they stay like that for a while as the cop keeps rubbing circles up and down his husband’s spine.

It’s not ideal, it’s not alright, but they have all of eternity to sort their problems out and Jim is willing to roll with it.

“Can we leave the basement now, _please_?” he grumbles when Oswald finally relaxes entirely under his touch.

Between the tears, he hears a muffled laugh. “Of course, darling.”

Jim sighs in relief. Talking about his feelings has never been his forte and he truly hopes such a lengthy conversation won’t be necessary for the next fifty years or more.


	9. All That Ends Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happy ending!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooookay.....I really have nothing to say for myself. I have to admit, the muse left me regarding this story despite the fact that I had huge fun writing it. I'm going to start a new project very soon but before doing so, I had to finish this fic, cause it needs and deserves closure. 
> 
> Thank you for all your wonderful comments along the way! And sorry. I'm really sorry this took ages.

Jim is incredibly relieved he’s finally allowed to leave the basement - for about five seconds. 

Oswald is standing behind him, still complaining about the cream smeared all over his fancy clothing, when Victor Zsasz blocks their path. 

“I think you’re going nowhere,” the assassin declares smugly while already launching himself at Jim. Oswald shrieks in terror and raises his cane the exact same moment the hitman's fist connects painfully with Jim’s jaw. Not having expected the sudden attack, he drops to the floor. The mobster surges forward but Jim isn’t having it. 

“Stop it! Both of you!” he hollers despite the white and black dots dancing merrily before his eyes and the excruciating ringing in his ears. 

Zsasz, completely surprised by the Penguin’s sudden attack, freezes. Oswald lowers his arm dutifully. Good, Jim thinks. At last, his husband is listening. Well, after the last couple of days, he’ll probably fulfill all of his wishes - before returning to his wicked ways by next week. 

“What the hell is he doing here?” the detective inquires while getting back to his feet. Shaking his head, he wonders if this week qualifies for the worst of his life. The sad answer is: no. This week doesn’t even make it into his top ten. 

Nervously licking his lips, the Penguin tries putting on a nonchalant demeanor and fails miserably. Blushing furiously, he gives everything away. For whatever reason, Oswald is a terrible liar when it comes to Jim. The cop smirks despite himself. Oh, he knows exactly why the killer is at their home, but he needs it to hear from his husband. 

“So?” he urges, cocking his head slightly. This will be the first time Oswald has to confirm what they truly are. 

“Uhm…”

“You hoped I’d agree with your ridiculous plan, right?” Jim growls in annoyance and Zsasz’ eyes widen. He can tell the killer is speechless. 

“Who would agree to get tortured?” he sputters once he found his voice again while Oswald simply glares at him. 

“I never said anything about torture,” he snarls petulantly. 

“You said Jim Gordon is being kept in your basement and I should come over,” Zsasz argues, slowly losing his patience. Jim can’t blame him. This whole ordeal is infuriating. 

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, the kingpin tries pushing past the killer. 

“Oswald!” Jim commands, inwardly rejoicing when his husband stops still in his tracks. “Isn’t there something you want to tell Zsasz?” 

The gangster tenses but Jim doesn’t care. Oswald promised, and there’s no way the cop is letting his husband off the hook now. He turns around, a pleading look gracing his features but Jim merely nods, encouraging him to go on. Meanwhile, Zsasz is looking from one man to the other, becoming more confused by each passing second.

“Fine,” Oswald huffs at last. “Zsasz, I’m proud to announce that James Worthington Gordon is, in fact, my husband. I specifically hired you to go after him and rough him up regularly in order to keep up the pretense that my husband and I are enemies.”

The hitman’s mouth drops open, closes, and drops open again. It’s the first time Jim sees one of the most feared psychopaths helpless. In his utter confusion, he almost resembles a baffled child. Jim snickers while marveling at the killer’s unease. 

But then Victor’s mouth curls into the most discomforting smile and the moment is gone. Staring at Gordon, the killer looks incredibly impressed. “How?” he utters, awe-stricken. “How did you trick him into believing he’s your husband?”

If Jim wouldn’t be so proud of his husband, he’d for sure be annoyed. But at this moment, the only thing that counts is Oswald finally having confirmed their relationship and making it clear that they are married. 

Smiling softly at his huffy husband, Jim verifies the statement. 

“We have a certificate,” Oswald adds briskly, leaning heavily against his man. “And as we won’t be keeping our marriage any longer a secret, your services will no longer be needed. Well, regarding Jim,” he adds as an afterthought. “I might have other assignments for you, though.”

“Absolutely not,” Jim interrupts sternly, finally dragging his man upstairs. He doesn’t miss the conspiratorial look his mobster shoots the killer. 

Jim hopes to finally let Olga and the rest of Oswald’s staff in on their secret but, of course, he has no such luck. Once they reach the kitchen, Harvey and Selina already stare curiously at the pair of them. 

“Where have you been?” his friend growls sourly. “I thought your little psycho has killed you after all.”

“And what is this stuff on his suit?” Selina chimes in, staring at Oswald with obvious disgust. 

Harvey takes only one look before making a gagging motion. “I’m worried sick and you’re having kinky sex with your man?!” he explodes, almost flinging his glass at them. 

“There’s a child present!” the Penguin yelps, horrified about the cop’s accurate observation. 

“Child,” Harvey snorts. “The little brat probably stepped on this earth fully grown with a plan in her hands how to rob elderly ladies.”

“I’m offended,” Selina remarks good-naturedly, sticking out her tongue at the man beside her. 

Jim’s head hurts already. What even made him think this would work smoothly? “What are you even doing here?” he asks her, internally debating how to throw them out both as soon as possible. 

“I was curious about your fate,” she simply replies. “And Ozzie’s cook makes some rad breakfast. Did you two know that?”

“As I hired her,” Oswald interrupts, “I have a vague idea,” he finishes drily. 

“So what’s the deal?” Harvey pointedly looks at Jim. “Despite you two making me gag, that is.”

“We’re going public,” Jim replies quietly. “No more lies.”

Humming in agreement, Harvey nods. “That might be best. Our colleagues at the precinct were already celebrating your death. They’ll be relieved you teamed up with our honorable mayor.”

Oswald makes a pained noise beside him but still entangles his fingers with his cop. He’s tense, and despite his promise, still not certain going public is the right thing to do; neither is Jim, but the lies, the secrets will eventually drive them apart. Besides, the cop really has to give his ribs a solid break from getting broken. 

“Jim, I’m terrified,” he mumbles barely audible and the grasp on Jim’s hand tightens. 

The policeman squeezes back. Not caring about their audience, he wraps his arm consolingly around the gangster’s hip and pulls him close. 

“I know,” he tells him softly. “But we have all of eternity to figure everything out now,” he reassures while pressing a soft kiss to his temple. The mobster trembles imperceptibly in his grasp and it’s almost enough for Jim to blow it all off. He knows Oswald loves him, would literally die for him, would let him go if requested. It’s just...Jim doesn’t want to go anywhere. He belongs right here: At the Penguin’s side. In Gotham. Forever. 

“I’ll make a few calls,” Oswald declares then. “We’ll be gracing the Gazette’s cover by tomorrow, that’s for sure,” he concludes with a dramatic sigh. 

Before he can leave the room, Jim holds him back by his sleeve. “Thank you,” he breathes into his ear. Pulling his husband into a tight hug, Jim clings to him as if he’d leave forever. 

“Everything for you,” Oswald murmurs back, squeezing Jim’s bicep slightly. 

For the first time, the cop truly feels as if they’re having a real chance. Despite being married, their relationship has rather resembled a fleeting affair. But from now on, they’ll act like a team. 

Harvey rolls his eyes when Oswald hobbles clumsily out of the room, but Jim knows his friend long enough to tell he’s happy for them. The silence in the small space stretches, only interrupted by the noise of Selina happily munching a cupcake from the counter. Jim feels guilty for lying to his friend for so long and grateful for him still supporting his decision. 

“I take it the birdman is immortal, too,” Harvey states, startling Jim from his musings. The cop purses his mouth before nodding reluctantly. 

“Thought so,” Harvey grumbles. “Always knew the little cockroach is indestructible.” Slurping his coffee loudly, he continues, “To be honest, I should lock you two up in Arkham and throw away the keys.” Shaking his head with mock annoyance, he grabs a croissant from the table. “And I wasn't even invited to the wedding,” he grumbles. 

“Oh stop it,” Selina sighs, rolling her eyes. “At least you get to blackmail me.” 

“What?!” Jim asks in surprise. 

“Selina is my informant now,” Harvey declares smugly. “Else I’d tell Bruce Wayne and Mr. Cobblepot she was willing to let you die.”

Jim sputters. “Oswald would never hurt her.” 

“Figured that myself,” Selina answers drily. “Not as long as you are his loverboy,” she adds with a salacious wink.

“Yeah, but the possibility of Bruce Wayne being mad at you did the trick,” Harvey sing-songs victoriously. The little cat merely glares at him. 

Jim wants to bury his head in his hands. He’ll never hear the end of this, that’s for certain. Thankfully, Oswald saves him from diving deeper into Bruce Wayne’s love life. Besides, what’s there to say? Selina Kyle is his villain, just as Oswald is his.

The heroes and the rogues in Gotham are inseparably entangled. They have always been. Harvey had Fish. Bruce will forever love Catwoman. And he? He’s lost to the Penguin. They’ll spend eternity with each other, and despite the fact that they’ll fight and even temporarily break up, they’ll never be able to truly stay away from each other. Oswald is his destiny, it’s as simple as that. 

Jim still doesn’t know how to feel about living forever, doesn’t know if he can wrap his head around what happened, but he's got enough time now to figure everything out. 

When Oswald returns, he looks pale yet also relieved and determined. His announcement to the Gazette must have gone well. Out of habit, he scowls at Harvey and Selina before focusing on Jim. 

“No turning back now,” he jokes with more bravado than he possesses. Jim has to admit, he’s afraid, too. Gotham will for sure be after them. This city won’t make it easy on them and their enemies know their weaknesses now. Yet, should anyone ever be as stupid as to consider taking his man from him, Jim will make sure hell looks like a spa-resort in comparison. And vice-versa. 

“I love you,” Jim tells him earnestly, desperately almost, when finally all is said and done. His little Penguin nods. 

“When I made the call,” he starts, rummaging through his pockets, “I found something.” Oswald pauses as Jim holds his breath. The earnest expression on his face speaks volumes and Jim wouldn’t dare to interrupt now. 

“Before my mother and my father broke up for good, he gave her a ring. My mother kept it all those years. She never had another man.” He gulps, stares at the floor before bravely carrying on. ”There was never another man for me too,” he whispers. Trying to get down on one knee, Oswald asks Jim a question the man can hardly process. Harvey gasps beside him, for sure being hardpressed to keep his coffee in. Jim couldn’t care less. 

Of course, there’s only one answer to Oswald’s question. Of course, they’ll renew their vows. 

Before the scrawny gagster can damage his shattered knee any further on the cold, hard tiles, Jim catches him and wraps him safely up in his arms. Harvey might throw up all he wants, he’ll need to get used to this. He hardly notes Selina’s excited squee when accepting the ring from his husbands' hands.

He only knows they’ll make it. They’ll be happy - forever. Or at least until Oswald realizes Harvey is going to be Jim’s best man. 


End file.
